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The iguanodon told him to use the sweet. Behind the sofa the stegosauri were Indian-wrestling; each time one went over, his spinal plates raked the recently papered wall. The hypsilophoden, tipsy, perched on a bannister; the allosaurus darted forward suddenly and ceremoniously nibbled her tail. On the far side of the room, by the great slack-stringed harp, the compsognathus and the brontosaurus were talking. He was drawn to them: amazed that his wife would presume to delay the much larger creature; to insert herself, with her scrabbling nervous motions and chattering leaf-shaped teeth, into the crevices of that queenly presence. As he drew closer to them, music began. His wife said to him, "The salad is running out." He murmured to the brontosaurus,"Chère madame, voulez-vous danser avec moi?" He landed on the rock, on the balls of his feet, just by its neck. As it moved to get up, its head came forward and it opened its savage mouth. Dyak thrust forward with the broken branch, punching forward with all his weight, holding the branch out like a shield. He jammed it between the open jaws, hard. He was halfway through Chapter VI (on page 55, to be exact) when he began to feel something amiss. I told you about this Carl Hest? The office manager? "Aw, itll only take a couple of hours. Youre half done anyway. I figured you'd throw in the tuneup along with it. If you really want the money, I'll get it to you a little at a time. Vyme, what sort of professional discount will you give me? I'm just a grease monkey, but I'm still in the business." Harry, he said in an awed voice to his bunkmate, aint that jest about the most bee-ootiful thing you ever did see?” from Fantasy and Science Fiction "Dont stand too close." Progress Report 7—mar 19 Then, down he did go, down dizzily, down, down and always, it seemed, faster, spinning about lightly on his heels at each landing so that there was hardly any break in the wild speed of his descent. He whooped and halooed and laughed to hear his whoopings echo in the narrow, low-vaulted corridors, following him as though they could not keep up his pace. I see. Well, that explains the sudden drop in the odds, folks. Now the question is, can the American assassination squad pull it off under this handicap? Well keep the cameras over here, folks, until we have an answer. The other sectors are relatively quiet now except for sporadic mortar fire.* * * * And within the quarter-hour the shocked assemblage had signed their names and watched Orion Newcastle, whom two or three of them considered to be nothing more than an aging buffoon, be sworn in as President of the United States.* * * * Fritz Leiber is the original S-F man. By which I mean any number of things, beginning with his beginning in the field a good thirty years ago (which would make him Senior Writer for the volume if it were not for Alfred Jarry antedatingeverybody.) Nor is it simply seniority, but also scope. Leiber began as a Lovecraft disciple, went from fantasy forUnknown, to s-f forAstounding, and then to popular-science writing and editing. In Leibers case, S is not just for Science, or Satire, or Speculation, though they are all there, but for Snakes as well as Spiders (the Time-Change stories), and for Shakespeare (Four Ghosts in Hamlet in last year’s FSSF), and Sword-and-Sorcery. (F, of course, is for Fafhrd and the Mouser.) And this year he has expanded hisrange a bit more, by writing the first authorized post-Burroughs Tarzan book(Tarzan and the Valley of Gold, Ballantine, 1966). We opened fire. Only Clem the Ox did not take cover. He took out the knife John had given him and stooped, and slashed at the cord holding the log the girl and the old man had got into position. It rolled away as the water pushed and sucked at it. With it went the other two logs. They seemed to wave us goodbye and danced away. I think I know what was in his heart just then. Fastening those three sticks together was great work. Gunpowder Alley was no more appealing by daylight than it had been under the cloak of darkness. Heavy rain during the early-morning hours had slackened into another dreary drizzle, and the buildings encompassing the alleys short length all had a huddled appearance, bleak and sodden under the wet gray sky. "Probably Du Santo. Weve been picking up their foreign patents in the quick-issue countries, like Belgium. Well know for sure after the inventors file their preliminary statements. Which brings me to the next question: How can we file a preliminary statement sworn to by a phony inventor who doesn't even exist?" "I wont. If Im needed they'll cage me again. And this time I'll have known freedom. I'll be back in robes, with incense and torchlight and all the time I'll be able to remember being free— walking in the field at Histon, for example." I felt very sad. Then I felt even sadder — I was thinking about myself. Now wait a minute, Forbes. Universal Law forbids— As I handed them to Ratlit there were fireworks, applause, a fanfare of brasses. "Oh, thats wonderful. Wonderful! Because guess what, Ratlit? Guess what, Vyme?" But I had looked beyond it. Had the goonie, the alien goonie, looked beyond it? And seen what? What had it seen that made anything we did to it not matter?.
