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Fantasite, v. 1, issue 5, September 1941

Page 10

THE FANTASITE................................................10
              THE MUTANT COVER
                BY BOB TUCKER
   "Okay, boys!" the big man said. He was impressive; the boys snapped to attention, gripped their pencils and drawing boards tighter. As one man, they looked expectant (as expectant as they were each Saturday morning in the pay line). One just looked.
   "Okay, boys," he repeated again. "Progress! We gotta get something done. The office (jerking his thumb upstairs) is riding me hard! Now here's the dope: the company is getting out a new magazine. It's up to us to work out a cover and title for the thing, and . . ."
   "What kinda magazine, boss?" broke in artist #1. #1 was a peach on girl's figures, and was used on the cover of Saucy Tales regularly. "What's the dope?"
   "A science fiction book!" the Big One announced impressively. "And I'm to edit it, too."
   "What the hell's a science fiction book?" piped up artist #2. This #2 was a new boy around the shop. He had recently graduated from a correspondence art school (advertised in the company's magazines) and to date, had done only a few interiors in Doc Gentle. "What?"
   "Uh ... uh," His Nibs hedged, "...you know. Rocket ships swooshing to Mars, and giant ants invading the Empire State, and ..."
   "Oh," interrupted #2. "Those crazy things."
   "Don't say that!" the big man screeched and jumped out of his seat. He peered cautiously around, and sat down again, breathing heavily. "Boy, if you value your job, don't ever say those words here again! There may be a fan around!" He mopped beads of moisture from his brow.

[image] "Don't say that!" he screeched.

"A what?" chimed #2 and #4 in chorus. "A which-what?"
   "A fan," the Big Shot explained patiently. "The guy who will read our magazine and not throw it away afterwards. The dear public that writes me letters on how to write the magazine. Admirers, collectors."
   "Oh," said #2, and packed a world of meaning in that barren moon of an expression. "Oh. I'm enlightened."
   "Hah!" the Big Man shorted. "I wish to hell I could say that! I've been trying for five or six years to figure them out, and can't. But what

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THE FANTASITE................................................10 THE MUTANT COVER BY BOB TUCKER "Okay, boys!" the big man said. He was impressive; the boys snapped to attention, gripped their pencils and drawing boards tighter. As one man, they looked expectant (as expectant as they were each Saturday morning in the pay line). One just looked. "Okay, boys," he repeated again. "Progress! We gotta get something done. The office (jerking his thumb upstairs) is riding me hard! Now here's the dope: the company is getting out a new magazine. It's up to us to work out a cover and title for the thing, and . . ." "What kinda magazine, boss?" broke in artist #1. #1 was a peach on girl's figures, and was used on the cover of Saucy Tales regularly. "What's the dope?" "A science fiction book!" the Big One announced impressively. "And I'm to edit it, too." "What the hell's a science fiction book?" piped up artist #2. This #2 was a new boy around the shop. He had recently graduated from a correspondence art school (advertised in the company's magazines) and to date, had done only a few interiors in Doc Gentle. "What?" "Uh ... uh," His Nibs hedged, "...you know. Rocket ships swooshing to Mars, and giant ants invading the Empire State, and ..." "Oh," interrupted #2. "Those crazy things." "Don't say that!" the big man screeched and jumped out of his seat. He peered cautiously around, and sat down again, breathing heavily. "Boy, if you value your job, don't ever say those words here again! There may be a fan around!" He mopped beads of moisture from his brow. [image] "Don't say that!" he screeched. "A what?" chimed #2 and #4 in chorus. "A which-what?" "A fan," the Big Shot explained patiently. "The guy who will read our magazine and not throw it away afterwards. The dear public that writes me letters on how to write the magazine. Admirers, collectors." "Oh," said #2, and packed a world of meaning in that barren moon of an expression. "Oh. I'm enlightened." "Hah!" the Big Man shorted. "I wish to hell I could say that! I've been trying for five or six years to figure them out, and can't. But what

A Capa Mutante
Por Bob Tucker

"Okay, pessoal!" o homem grande disse. Ele era impressionante; os garotos rapidamente se disporam 
a prestar atenção, pegaram seus lápis e desenharam bordas mais firmes. Como um só, eles pareciam expectantes (tanto quanto era esperado que estivessem em um sábado de manhã dentro da fiaxa saárial). Apenas um olhar. "Okay, pessoal," ele repetiu novamente. "Progresso! Temos que terminar isso. O escritório (apontando seu polegar para o andar de cima) está pegando no meu pé! Agora, a questão é a seguinte: a compania está lançando um nova revista. É trabalho nosso fazer uma capa e dar um título à coisa, e ..." "Que tipo de revista, chefe?" interrompeu o artista #1. Ele era um figurão em meio as garotas, e regularmente aparecia na capa da Saucy Tales. "O que vai ser?" "Um livro de ficção científica!" o Grandão anunciou de maneira entusiasmada. "E somos responsáveis por editá-lo também." "O que caralhos é um livro de ficção científica?"  disse o artista #2 derrepente. Esse #2 era um cara novo na área. Havia recentemente se graduado em uma escola de artes a distância (anunciada na revista da empresa) e até agora, havia feito apenas alguns trabalhos internos no Doc Gentle; "O que?" " Uh ... uh," His Nibs hedged, "... você sabe. Foguetes voando em direção a Marte, e formigas gigantes invadido o Empire State, e ..." "Ah," interrompeu #2. "Essas coisas malucas." "Não diga isso!" o homem grande pulou do seu assento. Ele olhou cautelosamente  em volta, e se sentou novamente, respirando de maneira pesada. "Garoto, se você dá valor ao seu trabalho, nunca mais diga essas palavras aqui novamente! Pode haver um fã por perto!" Ele enxugou gotas de umidade de sua testa. [imagem] "Não diga isso!" ele gritou. "Um o que?" indagaram #2 e #4 em coro. "Um fã," o mandachuva explicou pacientemente. "O cara que vai ler nossa revista e não joga-lá fora logo depois. O querido público que me escreve cartas sobre como escrever a revista. Adimiradores, colecionadores." "Ah," disse #2, e reuniu um mundo de significado naquela lua estéril de expressão. "Ah. Eu compreendo." "Hah!" o Grandão interrompeu. "Eu gostaria de poder dizer isso! Estou tentando há cinco ou seis anos entende-los e não consigo. Mas