Fantasy fiction; Science fiction; Subconsciousness -- Fiction
NO TIME FOR TOFFEE!
By Charles F. Myers
Life was Marc's oyster, but: subversives
had shot him--a ghost was ready to haunt his
corpse--and Toffee was loving him to death!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
July 1952
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
_Just as he stepped to the microphone Marc caught sight of the swarthy
man. He saw the red scar across the left eyebrow, the dull flash of
metal in the large hairy hand. By then it was too late even to cry out.
In the next instant the glass panel in the control booth shattered._
_Marc felt an explosion of hot pain deep inside his chest. He was aware
of looking around dumbly at Dick Drewson and seeing Drewson's face
register shocked disbelief. Then the scene--the room, Drewson and the
others--disappeared, engulfed in a blinding sheet of flame--and Marc
knew he was falling...._
* * * * *
Somewhere, in a place where time and space didn't exist, grey mists
began to seeth and swirl, and withall there was an ominous rumbling.
The High Council was almost in session.
In a sense, the High Council was already in session, for the Heads of
the Council had developed their intellects to such an inconceivable
degree that when a meeting of the Council was imminent they could
send their thoughts on ahead of them and get the meeting under way
even before putting in an appearance. There was an exchange of views
and information long before the Heads accomplished the mundane and
troublesome business of materialization. Thus it was that the mists
of Limbo now rumbled with thought, counter thought and--on this
particular occasion--downright aggravation, even before the arrival
of the Supreme Head in the vapored chambers. There was an air of
foreboding.
Having declined all vanities in the pursuit of the Ultimate
Intelligence, the Heads had allowed themselves to evolve into literal
representations of their titles. Directing all their energy and
development to the brain and its encasement, their bodies had suffered
proportionately so that now they were little more than a group of
preposterously large craniums, shaggy with cerebration, bearing faces
weighted with the ponderous woe of Life, Death, Eternity and other
such mental ballast. Five in all, they made up a company to be avoided
whatever the cost.
* * * * *
The Supreme Head cleared his throat and Eternity rattled with phlegmy
discontent. Baleful glances were exchanged all around.
"Well," said the Supreme Head, after a pause for attention. "I suppose
you all know the reason for this meeting by now?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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