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36th World Science Fiction Convention IguanaCon Two
Page 72
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IguanaCon. 36th World Science Fiction Convention IguanaCon Two - Page 72. August 30, 1978 - September 4, 1978. Special Collections, University of Houston Libraries. University of Houston Digital Library. Web. November 20, 2019. https://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/1984_003/item/815/show/760.

Disclaimer: This is a general citation for reference purposes. Please consult the most recent edition of your style manual for the proper formatting of the type of source you are citing. If the date given in the citation does not match the date on the digital item, use the more accurate date below the digital item.

IguanaCon. (August 30, 1978 - September 4, 1978). 36th World Science Fiction Convention IguanaCon Two - Page 72. Fritz Leiber Science Fiction & Fantasy Convention Flyers & Programs. Special Collections, University of Houston Libraries. Retrieved from https://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/1984_003/item/815/show/760

Disclaimer: This is a general citation for reference purposes. Please consult the most recent edition of your style manual for the proper formatting of the type of source you are citing. If the date given in the citation does not match the date on the digital item, use the more accurate date below the digital item.

IguanaCon, 36th World Science Fiction Convention IguanaCon Two - Page 72, August 30, 1978 - September 4, 1978, Fritz Leiber Science Fiction & Fantasy Convention Flyers & Programs, Special Collections, University of Houston Libraries, accessed November 20, 2019, https://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/1984_003/item/815/show/760.

Disclaimer: This is a general citation for reference purposes. Please consult the most recent edition of your style manual for the proper formatting of the type of source you are citing. If the date given in the citation does not match the date on the digital item, use the more accurate date below the digital item.

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Compound Item Description
Title 36th World Science Fiction Convention IguanaCon Two
Creator (Local)
  • IguanaCon
Date August 30, 1978 - September 4, 1978
Description Program book for the 36th World Science Fiction Convention IguanaCon.
Donor Leiber, Fritz; Leiber, Justin
Subject.Topical (LCSH)
  • Science fiction conventions
  • Fantasy fiction
  • Science fiction
Subject.Name (LCNAF)
  • Leiber, Fritz
  • Ellison, Harlan
  • Busby, F. M.
  • Nesvadba, Josef
Subject.Name (Local)
  • Bowers, Bill
  • IguanaCon
Subject.Geographic (TGN)
  • Phoenix, Arizona
Genre (AAT)
  • brochures
Language English
Type (DCMI)
  • Text
Original Item Location ID 1984-003, Box 57, Folder 11
ArchivesSpace URI /repositories/2/archival_objects/5283
Original Collection Fritz Leiber Papers
Digital Collection Fritz Leiber Science Fiction & Fantasy Convention Flyers & Programs
Digital Collection URL http://digital.lib.uh.edu/1984_003
Repository Special Collections, University of Houston Libraries
Repository URL http://info.lib.uh.edu/about/campus-libraries-collections/special-collections
Use and Reproduction Rights Undetermined
File Name index.cpd
Item Description
Title Page 72
Format (IMT)
  • image/jpeg
File Name uhlib_1984_003_b057_f011_035_073.jpg
Transcript beyond-mist-place and was gone, and the winds died, and the old paladin drew the child "back back back into his body. Alan slammed back inside himself, his eyes opened and he pitched over on his side, emptying his bladder, his bowels and his stomach—drenching himself and the wall beside him. His eyes rolled up in his head. He went limp as death and fainted, off off off . . . The old paladin sent the other seven children to the primary sensitivity sections and took Alan Pryor for advanced work. Alan was already sensitive and potent. This is what the old paladins taught him: The crazing in the air was a tearing of the fabric of time. The darkness beyond the orange spiderweb was the future. Earth's future . . . how far ahead no one knew. Something terrible had happened up there. No one knew what it was, nor how far ahead the disaster lay. It had changed those who lived ahead up there. Now they wanted to escape. The disaster had done something to the interface between the present and the future. Frequently, without warning, those ahead up there were able to force entrance. At such times, the paladins brought their powers into play. The nature of the power was never explained. It could never be explained because it was a random talent. It was born in rare children but some things had to be done to them before they could exercise the full potency of the power. They stood between the present and the future; between those things that might be human but no one cared to find out. There was no doubt that if they came through, they would destroy the human race and take this Earth for themselves. There were winds, and there were scorched places, and people died where they burst through; but always the paladins unleashed their power and the rift in time was sealed again and the humping, lurching, odorous creatures from the other side were sucked back into their own present and the Earth was safe again. For awhile. He was assigned to a ready station in Brazil. His apartment was in one of the old Bauhaus buildings fronting Leblon. He went where he chose and he was honored wherever he went. He was a paladin. The ivory and blue uniform was a badge of respect. He swam in the totally unbelievable blue of the ocean off Gopa- cabana Beach and he stood every evening on the balcony of his apartment as the ten minute torrential downpour eased the killing mugginess of the rain forest humidity. He attended brush up sessions in shock focus rooms like the one on the Island and he waited for his time. One night, when he was twenty- seven years old, he attended a reception for the international crowd that had come to Rio for the film festival. When he came up the dramatically winding staircase in the American Embassy the band stopped playing and the enormous crowd turned and applauded him. He smiled shyly and accepted the individual greetings of the handsome men in their summer-weight dinner jackets and the extraordinary women in their diaphanous gowns. Then he sought a place along one wall where he could stand silently, watching them as they danced and laughed. He was alone; he was always alone; he had grown used to it. Half of the reception storey of the embassy had been wallslatted, converting it into an art gallery; it held depth-screens on which reproductions of the paintings of American artists were projected: Rothko and Homer and Cassatt and Eakins and Bellows and Wyeth and Grooms. He stood and marveled. He had no national heritage, had never been exposed to such wonders. After a time, he became aware of a woman watching him. He did not stare at her, but turned slighdy so he could watch her reflection in one of the polished stainless steel helix sculptures of David Lee Brown. She was very tall and had shaved herself completely in the current fashion. Her pale skin seemed to be covered with a faint, delicate film of dew. He thought: beautiful, I've never seen a woman as beautiful. He remembered: the sound of a celeste, the sound of a toy piano. From long ago, before the Island. She moved, and he turned with her movement to follow her image in the stainless steel; she slipped off the reflective surface; and when he came around to look directly at the crowded room, to find her again, she was standing too near, and she was watching him. Her expression was one of concern. He had had women, but had never approached one socially. He was about to do it, to brave it, when the spiracle began to form in the air just in front of the Louis Comfort Tiffany chandelier. One of the waiters saw it first (Alan saw it first) and threw his silver salver of canapes to the polished onyx floor, shouted, pointed, and ran down the winding staircase. Then the others saw the fissure widening in the air, the charred orange lips of it distending in the air, a faint rushing of demon winds already ruffling their hair. They began to scream and to surge toward the staircase. Had he not been staring directly at her, he would not have been aware of her part in it. Something like the rooted trunk of a tree began to slip through the spiracle aperture, its fibrous rhizomes writhing through the spiderweb threads that dangled from the yawning lips of the fissure. Droplets of moisture fell from the tendrils and where they struck the onyx floor bubbled and burned. Alan gathered the yellow light from the wells deep inside him and, realizing the crowd would quickly shove itself over the staircase railings, knew he had only moments to seal the spiracle. He closed his eyes, clenched his fists and hurled a blast of yellow power out along the sparkling silver thread. It struck the vegetable horror emerging from the fissure and penetrated each tiniest fiber of rootling. It surged up the tap root and entered the trunk, blasting the core of life within. Then the yellow power spread outward, lapping against the sides of the spiracle. The opening began to shrink; it drew in on itself as though strings were tightening, pulling it closed like the mouth of a chamois pouch. Alan drew a deep breath, clenched his teeth and speared one last potent measure of yellow power at the spiracle. It withered, sucked itself back in on itself, pulled the last trailing rhizome back through the spiderweb, and then was gone. He felt himself sliding down against the wall. He had fought off an attack yesterday, in one of the favelas high on the mountain overlooking the Lagoa Rodrigo de, Frietas. There among the barracos, the tin-sided hovels, he had beat back an assault of slitted reptilian eyes that had surged out of the infernal darkness behind the orange spiderweb. And again tonight, yet another encroachment. They never came this close together. Was it an indication that some kind of tolerance had been built up? That it would take more frequent and stronger retaliation to beat back the Shock-focus attacks? He slid down and sat with his back to the wall, feeling sick to his stomach. He never really came away from an attack unscathed: his brain felt scoured, raw, bleeding. The crowd of silken cosmopolites had paused on the edge of riot: there was a paladin among them. And no paladin had ever failed to save them. They had paused and watched in awe and terror as this slight young man had beat back the demons. Now they crowded around him, their hands reaching down to help him. Alan gestured them away. He sought her face in the crowd and through a momentary shift in bodies saw' her heading for the staircase. He motioned in her direction and managed to gasp a command. "Stop that woman . . . the silver gown . . .yes, her!'' And the crowd closed in across the mouth of the staircase, halting her flight. She turned and stared at him. Then she came through the crowd, her silver gown whispering against her moist skin, and she helped him to his feet. And together they passed through the crowd of dilettanti and descended the memorable staircase. R-40 in Bin 375. R-41 in Bin 376. ■VTs&m IGUANACON PROGRAM BOOK 75 *'. hmbbhbhms .hi