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All electrical power went off over the western dominions of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. "What is it?" "But are you legal? Are you five persons competent to be a PTA?" demanded our Mr. Piper. He started down the blackened tube which on several occasions had been cleaned by the chimney sweep. Once down, he dragged himself through an aseptic corridor, with white doors on either side. He knew the plan of the building from memory. But his presence there was provocative. At the moment, no one passed by; but he would have to choose between the shadowed halls or the risk of being discovered and dying. Casey stuck a finger into his back. His voice went flat.Dont get excited and maybe you won’t get hurt. Just take me to the Senator, see? Don’t do nothing at all might make me want to pull this trigger. "Boss, understand, Im nearer Ratlit than you. Not only my age. My lifes been more like his than yours has. You look at him like a son. To me, he's a younger brother: I taught him all the tricks. I don't understand him completely, but I see him clearer than you do. He's had a hard time, but not as hard as you think. He's gonna take you— and I don't mean money — for everything he can." He got what happened next on the tape—the catlike pounce of the beast, the desperate struggling of the flopper, and the sudden gush of turquoise blood on the white snow. Nonsense! Biev yelled. Sheepdip and nonsense. There must be an explanation. There must always be an explanation.” Have you moved at all? A prowler? said Mrs. Klevity nervously, after a brief pause for thought. A criminal?” Just because I was able to work one spell successfully, I dont pretend to be an expert on magic, but I do know that the results one achieves are no more precise than those from any other form of reproduction. Whenever we doubled anything, the double seemed exactly the same as the original, although there were probably subtle differences we couldn’t notice, even in the simplest objects. When it came to highly complicated organisms like ourselves, however, the differences were easily discernible. BLOWUP BLUES The torpedo-carrying airplane. Admiral Fiske was the inventor of the torpedo-carrying airplane, but he was too far ahead of his time. He tried to enforce his patent by suing the navy later on. The District Court that tried the case added some nice fuel to the fire by giving the admiral a judgment of $198,500, a large judgment for those days, but then the Court of Appeals put the fire out; it reversed the District Court. For one thing, the Court of Appeals held that the government was entitled to a license under the patent. Admiral Fiske was known to have inventive ingenuity, and his invention was really a war plan, so the government was entitled to use it. Mr. Spardleton looked up and said, You know, I cant really quarrel with that part of the decision.” Meantime, poetry is catching up with science fiction (and/or vice-versa). In Britain, poetry-and-s-f has virtually a Movement of its own. Here in the states, the situation—as with fiction—is less focused, but the same trend is evident. It started in the little magazines, two or three years ago. Now you find Dick Allen inAntioch Review, Sonya Dorman in theSaturday Review, Gerald Jonas inF&SF, R. P. Lister in theAtlantic, Tuli Kupferberg inEast Side Review—and how many others, I cannot begin to guess; I mention only those I have happened to notice—plus, of course, the original poetry-and-s-f man, John Ciardi. (Fifteen years ago, when Ciardi and I were both visiting members of the late Fletcher Pratts Chas. Addams household on the New Jersey shore, Ciardi was editing a series of science-fantasy books for Twayne, and it was from him that I had my first fictionassignment: a chance to write a story without regard to the magazine-market restrictions or demands.)* * * * There was silence. Well, I warned you. The studio found an abandoned abbey near an ocean. It was fine. There was no furniture. Not even a bed. NOT EVEN A BED. All the windows were broken. The garden was like a crazy mans lair. Ooze made lines on the thick, thick walls. There was, of course, no telephone. Wind from the waters whistled in the halls. You could hear spiders skitter..