Knjige naucne fantastike

THE HAUNTED CITY

Hawkmoon noticed that the mist did not extend as far as the land, which had now taken on some color. Normally, he would have thought how dull the surroundings were, but in contrast to the ship they were bright. And above his head was a great disc, bloody and still, which was the sun. It cast a great many shadows, thought Hawkmoon. It was only slowly that he began to notice just how many shadows were cast—shadows which could not possibly belong to the rocks alone-shadows of all sizes, of all shapes. Then, he saw, they were the shadows of men— but only when he came ashore did he discover that there were no beings to cast them...

Lampa sa Atlantide

i druge priče

Knjige naucne fantastike

The Lamp from Atlantis

Atlantis - According to legend, an island in the Atlantic Ocean that Plato said was swallowed by an earthquake

Prema legendi Atlantida je bila ostrvo u Atlanskom okeanu za koje je Platon (grčki filozof) tvrdio da je potonulo u zemljotresu.

Časopis "Fantastična i Naučna Fikcija"


Kradljivci Snova

The Desert of Stolen Dreams

BY ROBERT SILVERBERG
This new novella follows the adventures of Dekkeret, a young man in the Coronal's entourage, as he sets out on a hazardous massion to the barren continent of Suvrael. The story shares with Silverberg's novel LORD VALENTINE'S CASTLE (Nov. 79-Jan. 80) the same background, the huge and wonderful planet of Majipoor, but this is a completely separate and independent tale.

Suvrael lay like a glowing sword across the southern horizon — an iron band of dull red light, sending shimmering heat-pulsations into the air. Dekkeret, standing at the bow of the freighter on which he had made the long dreary sea journey, felt a quickening of the pulse. Suvrael at last! That dreadful place, that abomination of a continent, that useless and miserable land, now just a few days away, and who knew what horrors would befall him there? But he was prepared. Whatever happens, Dekkeret believed, happens for the best, in Suvrael as on Castle Mount. He was in his twentieth year, a big burly man with a short neck and enormously broad shoulders.
This was the second summer of Lord Prestimion's glorious reign under the great Pontifex Confalume. It was as an act of penance that Dekkeret had undertaken the voyage to the burning wastes of barren Suvrael. He had committed a shameful deed — certainly not intending it, at first barely realizing the shame of it — while hunting in the Khyntor Marches of the far northland, and some sort of expiation seemed necessary to him. That was in a way a romantic and flamboyant gesture, he knew, but he could forgive himself that. If he did not make romantic and flamboyant gestures at twenty, then when? Surely not ten or fifteen years from now, when he was bound to the wheel of his destinies and had settled snugly in for the inevitable bland easy career in Lord Prestimion's entourage. This was the moment, if ever. So, then, to Suvrael to purge his soul, no matter the consequences.
His friend and mentor and hunting companion in Khyntor, Akbalik, had not been able to understand. But of course Akbalik was no romantic, and a long way beyond twenty, besides. One night in early spring, over a few flasks of hot golden wine in a rough mountain tavern, Dekkeret had announced his intention and Akbalik's response had been a blunt snorting laugh.

"Suvrael?" he had cried. "

You judge yourself too harshly. There's no sin so foul that it merits a jaunt in Suvrael."
And Dekkeret, stung, feeling patronized, had slowly shaken his head. "Wrongness lies on me like a stain. I'll burn it from my soul under the hotland sun."
"Make the pilgrimage to the Isle instead, if you need to do something. Let the blessed Lady heal your spirit." "No. Suvrael."

"Why ?"
"To suffer," said Dekkeret. 'To take myself far from the delights of Castle Mount, to the least, pleasant place on Majipoor, to a dismal desert of fiery winds and loathsome dangers. To mortify the flesh, Akbalik, and show my contrition. To lay upon myself the discipline of discomfort and even pain — pain, do you know what that is? — until I can forgive myself. All right?"

Akbalik, grinning, dug his fingers into the thick robe of heavy black Khyntor furs that Dekkeret wore. "All right. But if you must mortify, mortify thoroughly. I assume you'll not take this from your body all the while you're under the Suvraelu sun."

Dekkeret chuckled. "There are limits," he said, "to my need for discomfort." He reached for the wine. Akbalik was nearly twice Dekkeret's age, and doubtless found his earnestness funny. So did Dekkeret, to a degree; but that did not swerve him.

"May I try once more to dissuade you?"
"Pointless."

"Consider the waste," said Akbalik anyway. "You have a career to look after. Your name is frequently heard at the Castle now. Lord Prestimion has said high things of you. A promising young man, due to climb far, great strength of character, all that kind of noise. Prestimion's young; he'll rule a long while; those who are young in his early days will rise as he rises. And here you are, deep in the wilds of Khyntor playing when you should be at court, and already planning another and more reckless trip. Forget this Suvrael nonsense, Dekkeret, and return to the Mount with me. Do the Coronal's bidding, impress the great ones with your worth, and build for the future. These are wonderful times on Majipoor, and it will be splendid to be among the wielders of power as things unfold. Eh? Eh? Why throw yourself away in Suvrael ? No one knows of this — ah — sin of yours, this one little lapse from grace—"

"I know."

"Then promise never to do it again, and absolve yourself."
"It's not so simple," Dekkeret said.
"To squander a year or two of your life, or perhaps lose your life entirely, on a meaningless, useless journey to—"

"Not meaningless. Not useless."
"Except on a purely personal level it is."
"Not so, Akbalik. I've been in touch with the people of the Pontificate and I've wangled an official appointment. I'm a mission of inquiry. Doesn't that sound grand? Suvrael isn't exporting its quota of meat and livestock and the Pontifex wants to know why. You see? I continue to further my career even while going off on what seems to you a wholly private adventure."

"So you've already made arrangements."

"I leave on Fourday next." Dekkeret reached his hand toward his friend. "It'll be at least two years. We'll meet again on the Mount. What do you say, Akbalik, the games at High Morpin, two years from Winterday?" Akbalik's calm gray eyes fastened intently on Dekkeret's.

"I will be there," he said slowly. "I pray that you'll be too."

That conversation lay only some months in the past; but to Dekkeret now, feeling the throbbing heat of the southern continent reaching toward him over the pale green water of the Inner Sea, it seemed incredibly long ago, and the voyage infinitely long. The first part of the journey had been pleasing enough — down out of the mountains to the grand metropolis of Nimoya, and then by riverboat down the Zimr to the port of Piliplok on the eastern coast.
There he had boarded a freighter, the cheapest transport he could find, bound for the Suvraelu city of Tolaghai, and then it had been south and south and south all summer long, in a ghastly little cabin just downwind from a hold stuffed with bales of dried baby sea-dragons, and as the ship crossed into the tropics the days presented a heat unlike anything he had ever known, and the nights were little better; and the crew, mostly a bunch of shaggy Skandars, laughed at his discomfort and told him that he had better enjoy the cool weather while he could, for real heat was waiting for him in Suvrael.

Interesantna su pisma čitalaca ovom magazinu:

...While I'm at it, I would like to note a few past errors. In your June 1980 issue you published a story by Reynolds called "Hell's Fire."
In this story they needed to stand inside of a large pentagram to "raise hell." For this they used the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. The Pentagon is not a pentagram it is a pentagon. A pentagram, also called a pentacle, is a five sided star like is on the American flag.
Then you had a cover for "The Call for the Dead" by Glen Cook on your July 1980 issue. The story said "A pentagram marked the floor surrounding it.", "it" referring to the chair in which the figure sat. On the cover, however, there is a hexagram or a Star of David or a Seal of Solomon in front of the chair.
In most ways Fantasy & Sciencia Fiction is a terrific magazine. Why must you mess it up by being careless as to what you put on your cover? To err is human but editors are not supposed to be human...

Pirati sa Venere

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

Edgar Rajs Barouz
Venera - negostoljubiva planeta

Edgar Rajs Barouz, poznati pisac romana o Tarzanu, opisuje avanture Karsona sa Venere u 4 knjige u nastavcima...

Carson Napier had plotted his course to Mars with the greatest care. His rocket ship was the very best that human ingenuity could devise. He was as well-prepared as any man could possibly be. His only fear was that some inconceivable factor might interfere and drive him to another planet.

Perhaps the inhospitable Venus:—all astronomers agreed that it could have no oxygen and no life.

During his solitary flight the impossible happened. Carson Napier found himself heading for the barren world of Venus. And that was just the beginning of his adventures!

Karson Napier je sa sa najvećom pažnjom podesio pravac leta prema Marsu. Njegov vasionski brod bio je daleko najbolji koji je ljudski genije mogao smisliti. Bio je dobro fizički obučen, koliko čovek uopšte može biti. Jedino čega se bojao je neki napoznat faktor koji bi mogao skrenuti vasionski brod ka drugoj planeti. Možda na negostoljubivu Veneru: - svi astronomi se slažu da na Veneri nema kiseonika a sa time ni života. Tokom njegovog usamljenog leta nemoguće se desilo, Karson Napier našao se na putu ka pustom svetu Venere... A to je tek početak njegove avanture.

Evo nekoliko stranica iz četvrte knjige te serije
Bekstvo sa Venere

Escape on Venus

   "If they discover that I am gone, they'll make a search," said Duare; "then you will be caught."
   "And killed," said Vik-yor, trembling. "But I won't be killed! I won't be here; they'll just find you; they won't know that I had anything to do with setting you free. You stay here; I'm going to join them and pretend that I was at the banquet, too."
   "You're going to do nothing of the sort," snapped Duare; "you're going out into the plaza and help me fix the anotar; you're going through with this thing."
   "I am not," insisted Vik-yor. "Vik-vik-vik would have me killed if he knew I had set you free."
   "If you don't come along with me," warned Duare, "he will know."
   "How will he know?"
   "I'll tell him!"
   "No, you won't," snarled Vik-yor, and drew a dagger.
   Duare whipped out the r-ray pistol. "Put that dagger back, or I'll kill you," she threatened.
   Vik-yor hesitated. It knew nothing about an r-ray pistol, but it was an arrant coward, and Duare's tone of voice alone would have been enough to frighten it. It started to return the dagger to its sheath.
   "No!" said Duare; "give it to me—and your sword, too; you're not to be trusted."
   Reluctantly, Vik-yor handed over the weapons. "Suppose they attack us now?" it asked.
   "You can hide behind me," said Duare. "Come, now! We're going to the plaza." She had to poke the muzzle of the pistol in the middle of the thing's back in order to force it toward the exit. A moment later they were in the plaza. It was deserted at this time of night, and they crossed to the anotar in safety.
   The propeller lay beneath it, and a hasty examination showed that it was undamaged; then she examined the flange, J shrunk to the end of the crank shaft, to which it had been bolted. The bolts were there and undamaged—the nuts must have vibrated off almost simultaneously; Kandar had evidently | neglected to use either lock washers or cotter keys.
   These Duare found among the spare parts in the cockpit off the anotar, together with the necessary nuts. Climbing forward! on the wing, she told Vik-yor to hand up the propeller and then to come up himself and give her a hand. Together, they fitted the propeller over the bolts; and Duare started the nuts by hand; then she applied the wrench, a heavy tool that she had difficulty in handling in the awkward position in which she had to work.
   She had two nuts securely set and cottered when the guests came rushing from the museum in search of her. "There she is!" cried one, discovering her almost immediately; and then they all came running toward the anotar. Vik-yor scrambled into the cockpit and hid. Duare switched the wrench to her left hand and drew her pistol.
   "Keep away !" she called, "or I'll let you have it."
   Perhaps they didn't know what she was going to let them have; so they came on. The r-rays hummed from the muzzle of the weapon, and the leaders crumpled to the pavement. That stopped the others, at least for the time; and Duare con¬tinued to tighten the remaining nuts.
   Vik-yor peeked from the cockpit; it saw the dead and heard the screams of the wounded. Things looked pretty safe to it; so it crept out and came to Duare's side. Duare was working feverishly. She had thought everything out far in advance of either Carson or Ero Shan. Perhaps discovery by these Vooyorgans would make it more difficult than she had hoped, but she was still determined to go on with it—and flying away from Voo-ad without Carson and Ero Shan was no part of it.
The thing that she had planned on doing, after she and Vik-yor had repaired the anotar, was to force him to give up the vial of antidote, even if she had to kill him to get it, and then to go back into the museum and free Carson and Ero Shan. Discovery by the Vooyorgans had greatly compli¬cated matters, but it had not compelled Duare to give up the plan.
   More creatures were now rushing into the plaza, and the anotar was surrounded. Again Duare was forced to stop her work and turn a stream of r-rays upon those who menaced her most closely, and again the others fell back. This time Vik-yor did not hide. Feeling safe under the protecion of Duare, it remained and watched her using the pistol on its people. The thing intrigued it greatly and gave it ideas, one of which it put into practice almost immediately after Duare returned the pistol to its holster and went to work on the last remaining nut. While the girl's attention was centered on her work, Vik-yor stole up behind her and steathily removed the pistol from its holster.
   The first intimation Duare had that weapon had been taken from her was the sudden b-r-r-r- of r-rays. She wheeled about in astoinshment to see Vik-yor pumping r-rays indiscriminately into the crowd surrounding the anotar.Many of the creatures were falling, dead and wounded; and the others were fleeing for the safety of near-by buildings.
   "Give me that!" snapped Duare.
   Vik-your turned it on her. "Finish the work!" it said. " I want to get out of here."
   "You fool!" cried Duare. "Turn that thing the other way; if you kill me, you'll never get away. Give it back to me!"
   "No," said Vik-yor, sullenly. "I shall keep it. Your only chance of getting away yourself is to do as I say. Do you think I'll give this thing back to you, so that you can kill me? I am not such a fool."