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PROGRESS REPORT 12 NUT LA POM - Dying laughing Oh-well, it dont matter. Nothing. I am friendly, a Moose. I try to believe in disarmament. I cook for a hobby. Every seven years my cells change. But each new cell sings of health and well-being. No matter how often I am replaced, I remain formidable. The Concord jerked into motion, wheeling away from the landing and onto the muddy levee road. When they reached the ferrymans shack, the muscular tender emerged with his bug-eye lantern. The black scowl he wore testified to his displeasure at having to make two dangerous crossings of Dead Man’s Slough on such a night as this. As did his grumbling remark that the wind is a she-devil tonight, the current flood fast — the most words Quincannon had heard him speak at once. Why? Why not, Reese wondered softly. Its a...a rather intelligent animal, of course—somewhat more advanced than, say, the terrestrial chimpanzee. But that still leaves it far below the human level. Are... are you against using animals to take the burden of work off a man’s shoulders?” Naturally a report was called for: XN 2 might never return, and communication up-time and down-time was nearly impossible at these latitudes over more than a few meters. No! My name must be kept out of this at all costs. They had come out of the last of the snakelike bends in the river and were on the long reach to Stockton when Buffalo Coat appeared with his possibles bag and entered the Social Hall. Quincannon was close enough to get a better look at him by daylight. His guess of the previous night was accurate: no older than thirty-five, a powder keg of a man with short stubby arms and legs and a large head that seemed to sit squarely on his shoulders. Faugh! Either Pauline Dupree had tastes in men that included the coarse and ugly or he was another of her dupes. Perhaps both. Tell me. He spoke kindly and coaxingly for a moment. Is it because youve picked up some little bad habit? It’s very common, nothing to be ashamed of. This thing will help you.” The Winter Flies was written in 1959; sold to Esquireshortly afterwards; returned, unpublished, some years later; finally published— in F&SFas 'The Inner Circles'— in 1967. All of which throws some light on the fact that Fritz Leiber appears to be the only author from the late great days of space-and-atoms predictive science fiction (mainly Astounding,roughly 1937-1943) who is now regularly producing short fiction in a modern s-f vein. The other forerunners are (like Kuttner) dead, or (like Sturgeon) departed for other fields. June 22—Im forgetting things that I learned recently. It seems to be following the classic pattern—the last things learned are the first things forgotten. Or is that the pattern? I’d better look it up again. Yes. The Star-Pit You understand, I am exaggerating—but not much. ...What? When I was Miss Dow Nor did it eat. That bothered Mose at first, for he was hospitable, but he told himself that a big, strong, strapping youngster like this one knew enough to take care of itself, and he probably didnt need to worry too much about how it got along. After breakfast, sprawled across Madame Giocondas bed with her scrapbooks, an old gramophone salvaged by Mangon from one of the studios playing operatic selections, they had decided to drive out to the stockades—the sound-sweeps left for the city at nine and they would be able to examine the sonic dumps unmolested. Having spent so much timewith Madame Gioconda and immersed himself so deeply in her world, Mangon was eager now to introduce Madame Gioconda to his. The stockades, bleak though they might be, were all he had to show her..
