Conference noted::sf

                      THE ENCHANTED DUPLICATOR
                                 by
                       Walt Willis & Bob Shaw
 
                 Preface to the computer-readable edition.
 
     This computer-readable edition of THE ENCHANTED DUPLICATOR is
copied from the 8th printed edition.  Sadly, ASCII terminals cannot
show Dan Steffan's excellent illustrations.  A very few typos have
been corrected; I have doubtless introduced more of my own.  The
only typographic peculiarity present is that words bracketed by
asterisks like *this* should be regarded as underlined.
 
                                              Peter Trei
                                              [email protected]
                                              1 April 1985
 
                    Preface to the Eighth edition
 
     This is the eighth edition of The Enchanted Duplicator.  Walt
Willis and George Charters published the first edition, with
illustrations by Bob Shaw, in 1954.  Ted Johnstone and George Fields
produced a version with Eddie Jones art in 1962.  Arnie Katz and
rich brown published the third edition, illustrated by C.  Rose
Chamberlain, in 1971.  In 1972, The Enchanted Duplicator was
serialized (as installments of "The Clubhouse," normally a
fanzine-review column) in AMAZING SCIENCE FICTION.  In 1979, the
British worldcon, SeaCon '79, also produced an edition.  In 1980,
this fannish allegory was published in the 600-page WARHOON 28 as
part of a Collected Works of Willis.  And in 1981, Gary Farber did a
300-copy replica of the third edition.  Obviously this is a durable
work.
 
     Some of the allusions in The Enchanted Duplicator will be
clearer if one knows a bit of fanhistory.  For example, it is useful
to know that Mari Wolff, during her stint as a fanzine reviewer in
the prozine IMAGINATION, doled out egoboo with heedless abandon, or
that many fans used Swift Printers in the early 1950s.  Still, the
spirit of the work is just as strong today as when it was first
published, and a failure to understand a few random bits of
esoterica won't lessen your enjoyment.
                                                        --Jophan
 
Credits for the Eighth Edition:
     The 1983 edition of THE ENCHANTED DUPLICATOR by Walt Willis and
Bob Shaw, and illustrated by Dan Steffan is jointly produced by
Editions Dante and Constellation, the 1983 World Science Fiction
Convention.
 
     *Credits*: Design and Layout: Dan Steffan; Typing: Lynn
Steffan; Map: C. Ross Chamberlain; Vile Instigator: Gary Farber;
Boss Ladies: Avedon Carol and Peggy Rae Pavlat; Inspiration: The
Spirit of Fandom.
 
   This 1983 edition is dedicated to the memory of BOB PAVLAT, A
Trufan.
 
                                Chapter One
             In which the Spirit of Fandom appears to Jophan.
 
     Once upon a time in the village of Prosaic in the Country of
Mundane there lived a youth called Jophan.  Now this youth was
unhappy, because in all the length and breadth of Mundane there was
no other person with whom he could talk as he would like, or who
shared the strange longings that from time to time perplexed his
mind and which none of the pleasures offered by Mundane could wholly
satisfy.  Each day as Jophan grew nearer to manhood he felt more
strongly that life should have more to offer than had been dreamed
of in Mundane, and he took to reading strange books that told of
faraway places and other times.  But the People of Prosaic mocked
him, saying that the things described in his books could never come
to pass, and that it was as foolish to think of them as to aspire to
climb the great mountains that surrounded the Country of Mundane.
 
     The mighty peaks that hemmed in Mundane were ever present in
Jophan's thoughts, for since childhood he had loved to look at them
and wonder what lay on their other side.  At times in the late
Summer he had even seemed to see a curious luminescence in the sky
beyond them and once he had even fancied that he heard the sound of
happy voices singing, borne over the vast distances on the still
Summer breeze.  But when he mentioned these things to the People of
Prosaic they laughed at him and said his fanciful imagination was
playing him tricks.  Even if anyone could climb these impassable
mountains, they told him, there could be nothing on the other side
but howling wastes where no man could live except perhaps madmen and
savages.
 
     Jophan believed them, for they seemed older and wiser than he,
and tried to put the strange thoughts out of his mind.  But he still
read the strange books that told of faraway places and other times,
and in the long evenings of Summer he would go away by himself into
the fields and read until nightfall.
 
     Now one day while he was reading in a cornfield, the drowsy
fragrance of the corn lulled him to sleep.  In his sleep he dreamed
that a fairy came to him, a girl of wondrous beauty and shining with
a light brighter than the noonday sun, so that Jophan shrank away
and hid his eyes.  The fairy came nearer and spoke to him.
 
     "Have no fear," she said.  "I am your friend."
 
     And now Jophan looked and saw that indeed the fairy gazed on
him with kindness and love, and he took courage.
 
     "Who and what are you?"  he asked.
 
     "I am the Spirit of Fandom,"  said the fairy serenely.
 
     "What is Fandom?"  asked Jophan wonderingly.
 
     The fairy looked down on him with compassion.  "Have you not
been searching for it all your life?"  she asked.  "Watch!"  So
saying, she touched his forehead with her wand, which was called
Contact, and thereupon Jophan saw a vision that filled him with Joy.
 
     "This is indeed what I have been searching for without knowing
it," he cried.  "Oh, Fairy, tell me how I can reach your realm, for
I wish to become a Fan more than anything else in the world."
 
     "The Way is hard," said the Fairy, "for it lies over the
Mountains of Inertia which surround Mundane."
 
     "But those mountains are unclimable,"  protested Jophan.
 
     "To a True Fan anything is possible," replied the Fairy.  "But
wait.  I have shown you only the superficial aspects of Fandom.  Now
I will show you something of its inner essence."  With those words
she touched his forehead with her other wand, which as named Fanac,
and Jophan saw a second vision so glorious that he was quite
overcome by the wonder of it.
 
     As soon as he could speak he cried aloud, "Oh Spirit of Fandom,
tell me how I may become a True Fan and publish the Perfect Fanzine,
for that is what I desire more than anything in the world."
 
     "I see that I have chosen wisely," said the Fairy approvingly,
"but the way to your heart's desire is long and hard.  To reach it
you must obtain the Enchanted Duplicator, sometimes known as the
Magic Mimeograph.  It lies in the very heart of Fandom, on the top
of the High Tower of Trufandom, and the path to it is long and beset
with many dangers."
 
     "I do not care for danger," said Jophan stoutly, "so long as I
can publish the Perfect Fanzine, for that is what I want more than
anything else in the world."
 
     "Very well," said the Fairy.  "Then take this Shield, which is
called Umor.  If you polish it every day and keep it shining it will
protect you from many dangers."
 
     "But how will I know the way?" cried Jophan hastily, for the
Fairy was already beginning to disappear.
 
     "If you are a True Fan you will know the way...."  said the
Fairy faintly, for she had now almost completely faded into
invisibility.  For a moment a faint glow remained in the air from
which seemed to come the whispered words "Good Luck," and then she
was gone.
 
     Jophan woke from his dream and realized that night was almost
upon him, for the sun was setting behind the Mountains of Inertia
and their shadows were advancing swiftly on him across the level
plains of Mundane.  Behind the mountains there lingered a sea of
glorious light, and a sadness overtook Jophan to think that his
vision had been but a dream.  But as he got to his feet he noticed
that on the ground beside him there lay a shield of curious
workmanship.  Jophan picked it up incredulously and than turned his
eyes once again to the mountains, his face transfigured with wonder
and resolve.
 
                         [ To be continued. ]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw. Jophan,
inspired by the Spirit of Fandom, has decided to seek Trufandom.]
 
                            Chapter Two
               In which Jophan starts on his Journey.
 
     That evening Jophan told his parents of his intention to scale
the Mountains of Inertia and enter the Realm of Fandom.  His mother
pleaded with him in vain, and in a fit of rage his father burned all
the books that told of faraway places and other times, but nothing
could shake Jophan from his purpose.  As dawn broke he set out for
the mountains, carrying all his possessions on his back and turning
a deaf ear to the protests of his friends, who ran behind him
begging him to return.
 
     They soon fell far behind, and by noon Jophan arrived at the
borders of Mundane.  He found himself at the great arterial road
that ran to the capital city.  He was confused by the traffic that
roared along the road, and stood anxiously looking for an
opportunity to cross.  As he waited he noticed other travellers
boarding luxurious coaches bound for fabulous destinations such as
Wealth, Success, Respectability and other places, but none of them
seemed to be going in the direction of Fandom.  During a momentary
lull in the traffic Jophan marched steadfastly across the road.
Then he took the narrow path that led through the Forest of
Stupidity, which forest grows all around the Country of Mundane and
shelters it from the searching winds that blow out of Fandom.
 
     The path was overgrown, and in several places Jophan had to cut
his was through brush and thickets, but by mid-afternoon he had made
his way to a beautiful clearing where he thought he would rest
before continuing his journey.  To his surprise he noticed that the
clearing was laid out as an aerodrome, and that a beautiful silver
flying-machine was even now landing.  As he watched, the pilot and a
passenger got out.  The passenger seemed to fall to the ground and
lie there motionless but the pilot came trotting over to Jophan.  He
was a fat, prosperous-looking man, and he eyed Jophan with
calculating cordiality.
 
     Good afternoon, young man," he said genially.  "My name is
Swift.  May I ask where you are bound for?"
 
     "My name is Jophan," said Jophan, "and I am on my way over the
Mountains of Inertia to enter Fandom and produce the Perfect
Fanzine, for that is what I want to do more than anything else in
the world."
 
     "And so you shall!"  said Swift, eyeing Jophan's bundle.  "But,
my dear young man, surely you are not thinking of *climbing* those
mountains?  Why, my beautiful machine will fly you over to Fandom in
no time.  And as for the Perfect Fanzine, my aeroplanograph will
produce that for you too.  No trouble at all.  All you have to do is
give me that bundle of yours."
 
     "The Fairy said that I must get the Enchanted Duplicator," said
Jophan doubtfully.
 
     "That old thing?"  jeered Swift.  "Why, no one bothers with
old- fashioned stuff like that these days.  I've got some proofs for
you."
 
     As he hurried past the aeroplanograph to his office, Jophan
observed that the passenger was crawling painfully over the grass,
calling feebly to Jophan.  Jophan hurried over to him and could
scarcely restrain his tears as he saw the stranger's pitiful
condition.  The wretch was pale and emaciated, his clothes in rags,
and his hair prematurely white.  Jophan bent down to hear what he
was saying.  "Don't trust him," whispered the passenger through his
parched lips, "neither him nor his brothers, Offset and Litho.  They
will fly you over the Mountains of Inertia, as they claim, but you
won't be able to land anywhere.  You will fly around in circles for
months looking down on Fandom until all your money is gone and you
die of starvation like me.  Be warned before it is too late.  There
is no easy way..."
 
     His voice trailed off into inaudibility, and Jophan realized
that he was dead.  Solemnly he consigned his soul to Heaven and
prayed that the great BNF above would have pity on him.  Then he ran
across the aerodrome and resumed his journey through the forest.
 
     Soon the trees began to thin out and the ground to rise, and
Jophan knew he had arrived at the foothills of the Mountains of
Inertia.  As he paused to strap his bundle more tightly about him he
was startled to hear what seemed to be a train whistle nearby.  He
went forward curiously and soon found himself facing a large and
imposing notice.  In clear and elegant letters it said: TO THE
TUNNEL.  LETTERPRESS RAILROAD.  MUNDANE TO TRUFANDOM TOWER DIRECT
VIA TUNNEL.  Beyond it Jophan saw a dark tunnel leading into the
mountain, and before it a resplendent locomotive and a single tiny
carriage behind it.
 
     Had it not been for his encounter with the Passenger, Jophan
would have bought a ticket and boarded the train, but instead he
stayed where he was and watched the locomotive as it started off.
With a deafening blow on its whistle and an impressive clanking of
gears it steamed forward towards the inky blackness of the tunnel,
but it had barely reached the entrance before it shuddered to a
stop.  To his astonishment, Jophan saw the driver, fireman and
passengers get off and run to the back of the train.  With immense
labor they lifted the last section of the track and staggered with
it into the tunnel.  After some minutes they reappeared and boarded
the train again.  The train moved another few yards into the tunnel,
and the process was repeated.  Jophan watched them until they
finally disappeared into the tunnel, marvelling at their obstinacy
and patience.  It may be, he thought, a wonderful railroad, but if
they have to set every one of the lines by hand it will be years
before they even reach Fandom, let alone Trufandom.
 
     He listened for a while to the groanings and clankings still
coming from the tunnel and then set off on the steep path up the
mountain.
                          [To be continued.]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw. Jophan is
seeking a route through the Mountains of Inertia on his way to
Fandom.]
                           Chapter Three
        In which Jophan tarries in the Circle of Lassitude.
 
     The path was steep, and by nightfall Jophan was near
exhaustion.  Worse, he had entered a region of thick fog, and he
could no longer see the path in front of him.  Afraid lest he would
take a false step and fall down the precipitous slope, Jophan
stopped helplessly and resolved to wait until the fog cleared.  But
as the sound of his own breathing subsided he heard voices above
him.  He felt his way inch by inch along the path and suddenly found
himself at the entrance to a brilliantly lit, circular cave.  It was
full of people of all ages talking and laughing and playing games.
As soon as they noticed his presence they hospitably invited him in,
gave him something to drink, and then went on with their talking and
playing.
 
     After a while one of the youths finished his game and came over
to him.  "Where are you bound for?"  he asked politely.
 
     "I am going to Fandom to publish the Perfect Fanzine," said
Jophan, "For that is what I want to do more than anything else in
the world."
 
     "But *this* is Fandom!"  exclaimed the youth indignantly.
 
     "Well, not exactly," said an older man who overheard, "but it's
good enough for us.  Actually this is only the Circle of Lassitude.
We've heard of Fandom, of course, but it's such a lot of trouble
getting over those mountains that we don't know much about it.  We
have all we want here, you see, so we're quite happy.  If you want
to know something about it, though, I could introduce you to those
three old men in the corner.  They lived in Fandom for a time long
ago, until they came back for a visit to the capital of Mundane.
They were never able to tear themselves completely away or to face
another journey over the mountains.  It's easier to come back, you
know.  By the way, my name is Leth, Robert George Leth.  They call
me Leth R. G. for short."
 
     The Circle was so pleasant and hospitable that Jophan decided
to spend the night in the cave.  But they had so plied him with
drink that he slept most of the following day until it seemed too
late to start.  The same thing happened the next day, and the next,
and by degrees Jophan sank into a stupor, in which he forgot the
object of his quest.  Now and then he felt dimly that he had lost
some precious thing but whenever he tried to recall what it was one
of the Circle would press a drink into his hand and distract his
attention with the latest verses of the wits of Mundane.
 
     One day while Jophan was talking with the others a great wind
blew from Fandom and a sheet of paper whirled into the cave.  Jophan
picked it up and examined it curiously.  Its appearance stirred
half-forgotten memories of the dazzling vision he had had from the
touch of the wand called Fanac.  "Why," he gasped, "It's . . . It's
a Fanzine!"
 
     "So it is," said Leth R.  G., idly.  "They blow in from Fandom
occasionally.  We never pay much attention."
 
     Without another word Jophan shouldered his bundle and marched
out of the cave.  The others watched him in silence, and after he
was gone it was a long time before anyone spoke.  Then they renewed
their talking and playing twice as loudly as before, as if trying to
convince themselves that they were happy.
 
                          [To be continued.]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw. Jophan is
seeking the way to Fandom.]
                            Chapter Four
           In which Jophan meets a Traveller from Fandom.
 
     Jophan had been weakened both in mind and body by the drinks he
had imbibed in the cave, and he found the going very difficult.  The
path became steeper and steeper, and one by one he had to abandon
all the possessions he had brought with him.  Even so, by evening he
was so tired that he had to rest on a ledge to regain his strength.
Below him he could see the path winding down into the Region of Fog,
strewn with his cherished possessions.  Further down the green
Forest of Stupidity was spread below him, and beyond that the
peaceful country of Mundane basking in the light of the setting sun.
Shivering with cold as he was, for the Mountains of Inertia screened
the sunlight from him, Jophan found the prospect enticing and it
came to him how easy it would be to retrace his steps down the path,
gather up his possessions, and return to the placid life of Mundane.
 
     While he was musing thus he heard a terrible sound above his
head, and cowered into the shelter of the ledge just in time to
escape a deadly landslide of rocks and loose stones.  Behind them
down the path there slithered and stumbled the highest horse Jophan
had ever seen, and on his back an angry little man, pulling at the
reins and swearing continually.  Every now and then the horse
dislodged another stone which clattered down the mountainside,
awakening a fresh landslide.
 
     "Pardon me," said Jophan, "but you really should be more
careful.  You might injure some of the other pilgrims on the path."
 
     "Serve them right," snarled the little man, without dismounting
from his high horse.  "My name is Disillusion -- *the* Disillusion,
y'know.  Who are you?"
 
     "My name is Jophan," said Jophan, "and I am on my way to Fandom
to produce the Perfect Fanzine, for that is what I want to do more
than anything else in the world."
 
     "More fool you," sneered the other.  "Only a fool would want to
enter that place."
 
     "Why, what's wrong with it?"  asked Jophan.
 
     "What's wrong with it?"  repeated Disillusion incredulously.
"Why *everything's* wrong with it!  They're either stupid or mad,
every one of them.  Why, they didn't even come out to greet me when
I arrived -- *me*, mind you!  At first they even pretended not to
see me until I got down off my horse, and when they did speak to me
I couldn't understand a word they were saying.  And their customs!
I've never seen anything like them!"
 
     "Well, after all," said Jophan, "it's a different country.
Maybe if you had tried to learn the language . . ."
 
     "Nonsense!"  snapped Disillusion.  "They were just trying to
keep things from me and laughing behind my back.  Well, they can
have their secrets.  I don't want to have anything to do with them.
They were all against me, I tell you.  Imagine, not even thanking me
for entering Fandom after all I tried to teach them . . ."
 
     Speechless with indignation, he spurred the horse on again and
vanished down the path.  Jophan thought he was the most conceited
and self-centered person he had ever met, but nevertheless the
encounter refreshed him.  It seemed to him that the dislike of such
a person was a very good recommendation for Fandom.  With this new
vigor he set off again on his journey and by nightfall he had
reached a point from which he thought he should be able to reach the
summit tomorrow.  Happy in the prospect of seeing Fandom so soon, he
curled up in a little cave and went to sleep.
 
                          [To be continued]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw. Jophan is
seeking the way to Trufandom.]
 
                            Chapter Five
                   In which Jophan enters Fandom.
 
     Next morning Jophan arose with the first rays of the sun and
set off towards the now beckoning summit in good heart.  He was
overjoyed to see that there were no more gloomy people like
Disillusion coming galloping by.  They are really very rare in
Fandom, he reflected, and the thought put him in such good humor
that he redoubled his efforts to reach the top.
 
     Thus far in his travels, Jophan had been journeying alone, but
now he began to overtake others on the same path.  It pleased him
greatly to hear their fannish talk, and by the time he had achieved
the peak he had befriended several.  The closest of these newfound
friends were Mr.  Plodder and Mr. Erratic.
 
     The former was a slow-moving climber, who went straight at
every obstacle with grim determination, sometimes losing ground but
in the end winning through by the great quantity of his effort.  He
had no Shield of Umor, as most of the other travellers had, but
Jophan noticed that his skin was tremendously thick and it looked as
though even the fiercest blows would but glance off it.
 
     On the other hand, Mr. Erratic scorned to take great pains as
Mr.  Plodder was forced to do.  His method of progress was to wait
for an opportunity to make some great and brilliant leap which
enabled him to do in one second that which had taken the other a
full minute.  At times Jophan was greatly impressed by some
unusually clever bit of work by Mr.  Erratic, but he noticed that
the other seemed to have very little real strength and would rest
for so long between leaps that Jophan left him far behind.
 
     In a short time, Jophan reached the top and felt compensated
many times over for the arduous climb.  A smooth green slope ran
gently downwards into the most beautiful country Jophan had ever
seen -- Fandom.
 
     It was a land of streams and meadows and valleys, over and
between which ran meandering roads, dotted here and there with
cheerful cottages.  Beyond all this, in the mists of distance, he
saw yet another peak which was too far away to be clearly seen.
Jophan saw with wonderment that it seemed to have a golden radiance
about its summit.
 
     With glad cries the band of travellers in which Jophan had
found himself ran down the grassy slope.  Each and every Neofan felt
in his heart that he would soon reach the new peak which was called
the Tower of Trufandom, for here they had no Mountains of Inertia to
climb, and just the bright inviting land of Fandom to cross.
 
     After a moments hesitation Jophan ran after them, and so
brightly did the sun shine on Fandom that he and the other Neofen
(as they now were) were blinded by the light and quite failed to
notice the hazards, of which in Fandom there are many.
 
     As Jophan ran he was astonished and horrified to hear the eager
cries of those in front turn into screams of rage and consternation.
On shielding his eyes from the sun he perceived that some distance
ahead the verdant ground had become soft and treacherous underfoot,
in the manner of quicksand.  And to his dismay he saw that many
unfortunate wretches had broken through the surface and were being
sucked down, drawing down with them others who had sprung to their
aid.
 
     When Jophan saw the horrible purple stains that spread from
underneath to clog the victims' mouths and nostrils he realized that
they had blundered into the dreaded Hekto Swamp, and that there was
no help for them.  With a last pitying look he bore to the right
onto ground which had at first seemed uninviting because of its
slightly stony appearance, but which bore up underfoot, unlike the
seductive smoothness of the Hekto Swamp.
 
                         [To be continued]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw. Jophan is
seeking the way to Trufandom.]

                            Chapter Six
     In which Jophan ventures into the Jungle of Inexperience.
 
     Jophan soon found that the firmness of the ground was due to
the presence of mighty trees whose roots spread through the soil,
making it a secure if difficult surface to walk on.  He learned that
these great trees had flourished in Fandom since time immemorial,
and were called Abydix, Roneoaks and Ellam trees.  There was also
another lengthy name beginning with "G" which he was unable to
remember.
 
     Jophan had travelled but a short time over this difficult but
promising path when to his alarm he found himself confronted with a
dense jungle.  This, the Jungle of Inexperience, had not been
visible from the mountains, but apparently it stretched all round
Fandom and there was no alternative but to try to find a way through
it.  Jophan plunged bravely into the undergrowth, but the numerous
pitfalls and creepers so impeded his progress that he was eventually
brought to a standstill.
 
     As he paused to regain his strength, he was startled to hear a
heart-rending scream close by.  He forced his way through a dense
thicket and found himself on the brink of a mighty torrent which
roared through the jungle in the direction of the Hekto Swamp.  The
waters that leaped and churned along its course were as black as
ink, and Jophan realized that this was the notorious Torrent of
Overinking.  He was horrified to see that some yards downstream a
Neofan, doubtless the one who had screamed, was being borne away by
the flood.
 
     The unfortunate Neofan's cries of help wrenched Jophan's heart,
and he ran quickly as he could along the bank in an effort to reach
him.  It was plain, however, that the waters were too swift-moving,
and he soon fell behind.  The calamities that Jophan had seen
overtake his fellow-travellers began to weigh heavily upon his
spirit.
 
     He was, therefore, pleasantly surprised to see on rounding a
bend that a number of people were gathered on the bank and had just
succeeded in rescuing the Neofan from the clutches of the torrent.
On coming closer he saw that there was a huge pile of sheets close
to the edge and that the rescuers had knotted these together and
lowered them to the drowning Neofan.
 
     He discovered later that the sheets which had been used to
rescue the Neofan from the Torrent of Overinking were known as Slip
Sheets.
 
     Jophan joined the group and they all set off down the bank,
having agreed that it would be better to avoid the Torrent of
Overinking altogether rather then depend on Slip Sheets to rescue
them.  Further along, however, they were overjoyed to discover a
bridge across the torrent.  Laughing happily they crossed the bridge
which bore an inscription proclaiming it to be the Bridge of
Moderation, and set foot on the other side in the confident hope
that their troubles were now at an end.
 
     However, it seemed that they were not yet out of the jungle.
Indeed, as they progressed, the path became more and more difficult
to follow, as it wound its way among the overhanging vines and
creepers, all of a sickly light green aspect which reflected itself
in the wan faces of the travellers.  This unnatural pallor was
caused by the fact that it was very rarely indeed that a cheering
ray of sunshine ever penetrated the converging vegetation.
 
     It was in these unpleasant surroundings that darkness finally
forced the band of Neofen to pitch camp for the night.
 
                         [To be continued]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw. Jophan is
traveling through the Jungle of Inexperience on his way to
Trufandom.]

                           Chapter Seven
       In which Jophan encounters the Denizens of the Jungle.
 
     On the next day, Jophan discovered a phenomenon which had
hitherto escaped his notice.  Here and there through the jungle were
large swathes of flattened vegetation which bore the appearance of
having been made by some huge monster which had smashed through the
jungle and left a wake of uprooted vines and splintered trees.
Alarmed by this ominous sight he warned his companions to keep
together and to proceed with caution.  But it was to no avail, for
as the day wore on first one of them and then another would grow
impatient and stride on by himself.  Others, again, would be unable
to keep up the pace of the rest of the band and would fall
discouraged and exhausted by the side of the path.  From time to
time Jophan tried to encourage these fainthearts, but he was amazed
to notice that once they started to retrace their footsteps they
seemed to disappear almost instantly from sight.  He reflected that
if the way into Fandom were as swift and comfortable as the way out,
he would feel a great deal happier.
 
     So it was that by the middle of the afternoon Jophan found
himself alone on the path.  He occasionally caught up with one of
those who had rushed on ahead, but each seemed either to have fallen
victim to one of the countless perils of the jungle or had collapsed
in a state of complete exhaustion from their reckless expenditure of
energy.  Several of them he found crushed and bleeding in one of the
swathes he had noticed before, and Jophan wondered with trepidation
what sort of monster was this which could create such havoc by its
mere passing.  He kept an anxious watch on the path ahead but it was
difficult to see far because of the swirling vapours that constantly
rose from the dank vegetation.  Jophan marvelled that in his first
rapturous view of Fandom he had failed to perceive any sign of this
dreadful jungle whose extent seemed to be almost boundless.
 
     This thoughtful state of mind was rudely shattered by a
dreadful crashing sound like that of the stampede of a hundred
elephants, and the trees further down the path split asunder.
Raising his Shield of Umor as bravely as he might, Jophan stared
intently into the steaming jungle.
 
     A cold shadow of terror fell across him as he failed to see any
cause for either the sound or the crushing of trees.  The Thing
appeared to be invisible.  As the mysterious trampling sound grew
nearer it took all of Jophan's courage to stand his ground.  But
then, as he peered ever more intently ahead, he suddenly perceived
that it was not one great monster which was advancing on him, but a
horde of smaller ones.  His difficulty in seeing them at first was,
he now realized, due to the fact that their markings and colorings
resembled so closely the those of their surroundings.  They were, he
could see now, hideous creatures resembling warthogs, but much
heavier, and with dreadful spikes protruding all over their squat
bodies.
 
     As they drew near, Jophan's eye was caught be one of the Neofen
who had earlier rushed on ahead and now lay by the side of the path
recovering his strength.  As Jophan watched, the Neofan got to his
feet to resume his journey, and, unable to see the monsters,
staggered abruptly onto the path without looking where he was going.
Jophan shouted a warning, but the creatures had already seen their
victim.  Their little red eyes gleaming cruelly, they changed
direction and bore down mercilessly on the unfortunate Neofan,
brushing aside his Shield of Umor and crushing his bleeding body to
the ground.
 
     When Jophan saw that the Shield of Umor was of no avail against
the monsters he was overcome with fear and would have turned to flee
had not a wondrous thing occurred.  In the distance he heard the
sound of golden trumpets, and beside him the voice of the Spirit of
Fandom.
 
     "Stay, Jophan!"  she whispered.  "Do not run.  These beasts you
see are called Typos and their attention is attracted by sudden
movement.  If you proceed slowly and with care you will not be
troubled by them."
 
     Despite these assurances, Jophan was wary of passing the
monsters, which were moving slowly along the trail as if watching
for more unsuspecting Neofen.  "But," he protested, "what if one of
their spikes should accidentally strike me?  The trail lies very
close to them and they are difficult to to detect in the
undergrowth."
 
     "If you go carefully enough this will not happen," said the
Fairy confidently.  "However, to set your mind at rest, here is a
bottle of magic liquid called Correction Fluid.  A touch of this
will instantly heal any wound made by a typo."  At these words a
tiny blue bottle appeared in the air before Jophan.  Clutching it in
his hand, he walked carefully past the herd and resumed his journey.
 
                         [To be continued]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw. Jophan is
seeking the way to Trufandom.]

                           Chapter Eight
             In which Jophan meets two Strange Neofen.
 
     In the days that followed, Jophan saw and heard many hordes of
Typos blundering through the jungle but, thanks to the Fairy's
advice, he came to no harm.  One day, however, he came upon a small
herd of them on the path in front of him, moving slowly in the same
direction as he.  He overtook them carefully, meaning to pass
unobserved, when to his horror he noticed that there was a Neofan in
their midst.  He was about to call out a warning when he perceived
that the Neofan was sitting, apparently unharmed, on a crude hurdle
which was actually being borne along by the Typos.  At this sight
Jophan cried out in astonishment, upon which the Neofan turned round
and greeted him cheerily.
 
     "Good morning, friend," he said.  "What is your name and
whither are you bound?"
 
     "My name is Jophan," said Jophan, "and I am on my way to
Trufandom to obtain the Enchanted Duplicator and produce the Perfect
Fanzine."
 
     "I also," said the Neofan.  "My name is Kerles.  Would you care
to ride with me?"
 
     "No, thank you," replied Jophan without hesitation.  "To tell
the truth I should be afraid of these horrible creatures."
 
     "Horrible?"  laughed Kerles.  "Everyone fights shy of me on
account of these Typos, but actually they are quite agreeable
fellows.  Look, they will even do tricks for me."
 
     So saying, he stretched out his Shield of Umor, which was large
and brilliantly polished, and gave a word of command.  Instantly
several of the Typos jumped neatly over the Shield, performing
somersaults and such other odd antics that Jophan burst out
laughing.
 
     Jophan was impressed, but he noticed that while Kerles was
admittedly saving energy by this mode of travel, he was not
proceeding very quickly.  Moreover, every now and then the Typos
would wander off into the jungle, from which they were brought back
with such difficulty that Kerles seemed in constant danger of losing
his way altogether.  Jophan felt that it was impossible to press the
beasts into any really useful service, and, reluctant to remain in
the presence of the ugly creatures, bade Kerles a friendly farewell.
 
     He had not gone very far when he perceived another traveller on
the path, and hurried to overtake him.  By the speed with which he
was able to do so he surmised that the other was standing still, but
when he caught up with him he found that such was not the case.  The
Neofan was in fact moving forwards, but so slowly that quite a
considerable time elapsed between steps.  This time the Neofan
seemed to spend in consulting various books from a pile which he
carried under one arm, and in clearing away every tiny frond from
the the margin of the path before he ventured forward.  On the
Neofan's back was a huge rucksack which appeared to be crammed full
with heavy objects, and a bundle of peculiarly-shaped swords,
walking-sticks and umbrellas.  Jophan's curiosity was aroused by
this extraordinary mass of equipment and he addressed the Neofan
politely.
 
     "Good afternoon, friend," he said.  "My name is Jophan, and I
am on my way to obtain the Magic Mimeograph and publish the Perfect
Fanzine.  Could you please tell me what are these things you're
carrying?"
 
     "Good afternoon," said the Neofan.  "These," he said proudly,
pointing to the books, "are my guides.  These swords and things are
for cutting, shading, burnishing, and so on.  A large number of all
these are absolutely essential if one is to find one's way through
this jungle safely.  Although," he added mournfully, "I didn't want
to come this way at all.  I would have gone by the Letterpress
Railroad if I had had enough money.  My name is Perfexion, and I too
--"
 
     At this point there was a rustling noise in the undergrowth
and, panic-stricken, the Neofan threw all his belongings to the
ground.  Rummaging in his rucksack he pulled out a peculiar-looking
article made of wood and glass.  Holding this to his eye, he peered
intently into the jungle.
 
     After some moments he was apparently satisfied, and put the
instrument back in his rucksack.
 
     "What was that thing you were looking through?"  asked Jophan
curiously.
 
     "That was my 'scope," said Perfexion.  "I use it to watch out
for those... animals."
 
     "You mean the Typos?"  asked Jophan.
 
     The Neofan seemed terrified by the mere utterance of the word
and stared hauntedly into the jungle.
 
     "Yes," he whispered fearfully.  "Those dreadful Things.  Er...
would you like to travel with me?  It would be so much safer if we
could both watch out for... Them."
 
     Jophan was filled with pity for the timorous Neofan, but he
realized he would make very slow progress in his company.
 
     "Thank you," he said kindly, "but I'd rather just take my
chances with the Typos.  I want to get on."
 
     He shook hands with the Neofan and continued on his way.  At
the next bend in the path he turned around to give a friendly wave,
but Perfexion was so busy with his equipment that he did not notice.
 
     Jophan slept fitfully that night, his mind occupied with the
events of the day, and was up and on his way before daylight the
next morning.  So adept had he become at negotiating the jungle, and
so dextrous at avoiding the Typos, that he had covered a
considerable distance before the sun rose above the horizon.  When
it did so Jophan saw to his delight that the jungle seemed to be
coming to an end.  The trees were further apart, the undergrowth
less dense, and the path stretched invitingly in front of him, clear
and well-marked.  Jophan broke into an eager run.
 
                         [To be continued]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw.  Jophan is
on his way to Trufandom.]

                            Chapter Nine
             In which Jophan encounters the Hucksters.
 
     In a few minutes he was standing, breathless with excitement
rather than exertion, at the very edge of the the jungle.  Before
him he saw a broad well-surfaced road which ran gently through a
fertile plain, towards where in the far distance gleamed the towers
and spires of a splendid city.  A few yards ahead of the point where
he was standing a myriad of tracks such as the one he had travelled
converged together to make the road, as countless tiny tributaries
form a great river.  Along these paths as Jophan watched, other
Neofen came running with glad cries, to dash along the road in the
direction of the shining city.
 
     Mindful of the unseen perils to which such over-eager Neofen
had fallen victim on a previous occasion Jophan resolved to be on
his guard, and followed the others more soberly.
 
     It soon became obvious that he was approaching civilization.
Although the city itself was still far away there were great
hoardings in the fields by the side of the road covered with
brightly-colored advertisements from various establishments in the
city.  Jophan read each of these, impressed despite himself at the
attractions they had to offer.
 
     While he was staring at a particularly large and brilliant
hoarding he was startled to hear what sounded like a cry of pain
from behind it.  Vaulting the low fence by the side of the road,
Jophan quickly ran behind the hoarding.  There, running around in
little circles and uttering heart-rending cries of anguish, was one
of the Neofen he had seen that morning.  Jophan was horrified to see
the change which had overcome him.  His once ruddy face had taken on
a dreadful pallor, and his body was emaciated almost beyond
recognition.  Before Jophan could reach him the Neofan collapsed on
the ground and began to moan piteously.
 
     Jophan ran and knelt by his side.  The Neofan looked up at him
wanly.  "Too late..."  he murmured, "...dying...beware...don't
buy..."  His lips continued to move but no sound came forth.
 
     "Don't buy what?"  asked Jophan anxiously.
 
     The Neofan summoned up his last reserves of strength.  "...tin
bug," he whispered.  Then his eyes closed and he ceased to breath.
Jophan saw that he was dead and consigned his soul to the Happy
Fanning Ground.  Then, tenderly, he commenced to arrange the body in
a more seemly position.
 
     No sooner had he raised the Neofan's shoulders from the ground
than Jophan started back in horror.  There, on the back of the
corpse, was clamped a hideous leech-like creature, bloated with the
life-blood of its victim.  Aghast, Jophan dropped the body and
stumbled back to the road.
 
     So stunned was he by the horror of what he had seen that it was
some time before Jophan recovered himself sufficiently to resume his
journey.  Even then he was still worried and perplexed as to the
meaning of the Neofan's warning, for so far in his travelling along
the road he had seen no establishment where anything might be
bought.
 
     This last problem was solved when in a few moments he rounded a
slight bend in the road.  He had arrived at a crossroads where among
a small forest of hoardings there clustered a group of hucksters'
stalls.  They were heaped with gaily colored and attractive objects,
and behind each stall stood a huckster loudly proclaiming the merits
of his wares.
 
     As Jophan walked past, one of them accosted him ingratiatingly.
"Greetings, young sir," he said, rubbing his hands together.  "Might
I make so bold as to inquire your name and destination?"
 
     "My name is Jophan," said Jophan guardedly, "and I am on my way
to Trufandom to obtain the Magic Mimeograph and produce the Perfect
Fanzine."
 
     "Then I have just the thing for you," exclaimed the huckster.
"It is a long journey on which you have embarked, and a lonely one.
Why not take one of these adorable little pets to beguile the
tedious hours?"
 
     With these words he held up a transparent case in which reposed
a captivating jewel-like creature resembling a ladybird, gaily
colored and beautiful to look upon.  Its appearance so fascinated
Jophan that his hand went involuntarily to his pocket.  "What do you
call it?"  he asked, in a last effort at caution.
 
     "Its a Kolektinbug," said the huckster, holding out his hand
for Jophan's money.
 
     With the meaning of the Neofan's warning now made hideously
clear to him, Jophan backed away from the deadly little creature and
its insidious temptation.  "No, thank you," he said.  I...I've
changed my mind."
 
     Pursued by curses and imprecations of the thwarted hucksters,
Jophan continued steadfastly on his way to Trufandom, pausing only
at one of the less pretentious establishments to replenish his
provisions.
 
                         [To be continued]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw.  Jophan is
seeking Trufandom.]

                                Chapter Ten
                     In which Jophan comes to the City.
 
     It was now obvious that the hucksters' settlement had been
merely the outskirts of the great city.  The towers and spires which
Jophan had seen that morning now loomed directly ahead, and the
green fields had completely disappeared behind a great wall of
hoardings.  Shortly these in turn gave place to a region of
barracks-like buildings, each backed by stretches of bare concrete
and separated from one another by barbed wire.
 
     As Jophan entered this district a great number of people came
running out of the buildings to welcome him, pressing gifts into his
hands, clapping him on the back and offering him hospitality.
Meanwhile, others shouted greetings from the windows of the
buildings and showered him with pieces of paper in such profusion
that Jophan could scarce see his way in front of him.  He caught one
of the pieces as it fell and saw that the message emblazoned across
it was the same as that which was being shouted by most of the
people around him.  "WELCOME TO TRUFANDOM," it proclaimed.  Jophan
turned it over and found that the other side consisted of an
advertisement for a club for fans, which was evidently what these
buildings were.  Curious, he turned his steps towards the nearest
one.  At once a huge howl of rage arose from the representatives of
other clubs, and they shouted at him and plucked at his garment in
an attempt to divert his footsteps.  However, reinforcements quickly
arrived from the club in whose direction he was proceeding and he
was hustled inside.
 
     There his new friends welcomed him effusively and asked him his
name.  "My name is Jophan," said Jophan, "and I am on my way to
Trufandom to obtain the Enchanted Duplicator and produce the Perfect
Fanzine."
 
     They looked horrified.  "Do you mean," asked one of them, "that
you were actually going to attempt that journey *by* *yourself*?"
 
     "Yes," said Jophan diffidently.
 
     "But my poor fellow," said the other, "that is quite
impossible.  You must, absolutely must belong to a club before you
can ever think about such an undertaking.  Here we will train you
for the journey, outfit you with all the necessary equipment, and in
time send you out as part of a properly organized expedition.
*That* is the way to go about such things," he added proudly.
 
     "How long will that take?"  asked Jophan.
 
     "Training is going on this very moment in the exercise yard,"
said the other impressively.  "But first let me show you the
benefits our club has to offer you."
 
     He smiled kindly to Jophan and turned to speak to one of the
other club members.  Jophan could not hear what the latter said, but
he saw him shake his head and point to another member.  He in turn
pointed to yet another with a great deal of muttering and
whispering, and soon they were all arguing bitterly among
themselves.  Every now and then one of them would stamp angrily out
of the room, slamming the door behind him, but another always seemed
to come in to take his place.  This went on for a long time, and
they seemed to have forgotten all about Jophan.  He rose from his
seat, tiptoed quietly out of the other door of the room, and found
himself in the exercise yard.
 
     Marching up and down the yard was a line of several dozen
Neofen, under the supervision of a drill instructor.  When they came
to the barbed wire fence at one side the instructor would shout,
"About face," and they would turn round and march to the other side
of the yard, were the process was repeated.  Jophan watched for a
considerable time, but this seemed to form the sole activity.  At
length one of the Neofen fell out of line and walked tiredly over to
Jophan.
 
     "One gets a little tired of it at times," he said rather
shamefacedly.
 
     "I thought you were quite right," said Jophan.  "I never saw
anything so pointless in all my life."
 
     "Oh, I wouldn't say that," replied the Neofan defensively.
"You see, there's to be an election shortly, and then it'll be the
turn of one of *us* to give the orders.  Why, it might be *me*," he
added eagerly.
 
     "But how will all this help you get to Trufandom?"  asked
Jophan.
 
     "Trufandom?"  said the other, astonished.  "Why, *this* is
Trufandom!
...Isn't it?"
 
     "It is not," said Jophan firmly, and proceeded to impart to the
Neofan something of the glory of the vision he had experienced from
the touch of the wand called Fanac.
 
     The Neofan passed his hand dazedly across his forehead.
"Yes..."  he said, "I do remember something like that.  But I've
been here so long I'd quite forgotten it."
 
     "Leave all this marching up and down," urged Jophan.  "It will
never get you anywhere.  Come with me to Trufandom."
 
     "I'm not sure I'm strong enough yet for such a journey," said
the Neofan hesitantly.  "Maybe I had better let the club help me."
 
     "No," said Jophan.  "I am only a Neofan, but I know this: that
the journey to Trufandom is one which must be accomplished by a
Fan's unaided efforts.
 
     "But," pleaded the Neofan, "couldn't you wait until after this
election...or maybe the one after it?"
 
     "No," said Jophan firmly.  "I must be on my way."  He waited
for a moment to see if the Neofan would change his mind, and then
left him reluctantly.  He slipped back into the building, through
the room where the organizers were still arguing, and back into the
streets, still unnoticed.  Then, brushing aside the crowd of
well-meaning organizers and welcomers with a friendly but firm arm,
he continued on his was to the center of the city.
 
     The buildings now began to take on a more and more elegant
appearance, and became ever higher and more imposing.  The streets
became broader and more smoothly paved.  At each intersection the
vistas were more and more beautiful and awe-inspiring, until at last
he reached the center of the city.
 
     Jophan knew this was the center of the city for the simple
reason that his instinct told him that there could not be anything
more beautiful still in store.  He found himself in a broad,
gleaming thoroughfare, beautifully paved.  On either side there
towered shining marble skyscrapers, their pinnacles plunging into
the very heavens.  It was all so wonderful that Jophan could do
nothing but stand there motionless, breathless with admiration.
This, he thought to himself, must be Trufandom.  True, it was not as
the Fairy had led him to expect, but he could not imagine that
anything more wonderful could exist.
 
                          [To be continued.]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw.  Jophan is
in search of Trufandom.]

                           Chapter Eleven
          In which Jophan learns the Truth about the City.
 
     As he stood at the entrance to the great avenue, still
transfixed with awe, a dapper, bespectacled young man came up to
him.  He eyed Jophan's tattered garments somewhat askance, but spoke
to him civilly enough.
 
     "Good day," he said.  "Might I enquire your name?"
 
     "My name is Jophan," said Jophan humbly, "and I am on my way to
Trufandom..."
 
     "You need go no further," said the young man.  "Perhaps you
would like me to show you around the city.  My name is Dedwood," he
added proudly, "and I am one of the City Planners.  I am a Serious
Construction Engineer by profession."
 
     Taking Jophan's arm, he led him along the street, pointing out
one great building after another.  Before they had reached the end
of the avenue Jophan was, if possible, even more overcome with
admiration, but he began to feel out of place in all this elegance
with his dirty clothes and tarnished Shield.  As Dedwood was
pointing out yet another imposing building he took the opportunity
to give the Shield a surreptitious rub with his handkerchief.
 
     "This," Dedwood was saying, "is the Federation Building ---"
 
     He broke off in alarm as a strangled sound came from his
listener.  In wiping his Shield Jophan had caught a glimpse of the
reflection of the building on its surface, and he had been unable to
suppress a cry of astonishment.  Reflected in the Shield was not the
imposing edifice of the Federation Building, but a ramshackle
affair, in visible danger of falling into the street.  Seen in the
mirror of the Shield, the building was not even soundly constructed,
but disfigured by cracks and faulty workmanship.  Even so, Jophan
would have been half inclined to dismiss the reflection as the
result of a distortion on the Shield's surface, had not the thought
suddenly occurred to him that not once had he been allowed to see
inside one of the buildings.
 
     Before Dedwood could stop him, Jophan darted through the door
of the Federation Building.  As he had by now half-suspected, it was
not a building at all, but a mere facade.  Although it reached high
in the air, it was but a few inches thick and obviously unstable.
Even as Jophan watched a little gust of wind produced several
dangerous-looking cracks in the flimsy structure.  At the
splintering sound, two harassed Neofen appeared, pushing a tall
scaffolding before them on wheels.  Stopping close to the wall, they
clambered up and hastily filled the cracks with cement.  Then they
pushed the scaffolding along to the next danger point, working more
and more feverishly as the cracks seemed to grow in number more
rapidly than they could be repaired.
 
     Jophan tore his eyes away from this depressing sight, and went
outside again.  Dedwood was still standing on the sidewalk, but he
now had an almost guilty expression on his face.
 
     Jophan faced him accusingly.  "What is the idea of all this?"
he demanded brusquely, annoyed at having been taken in by such a
senseless deception.
 
     "Well, you see," said Dedwood awkwardly, "it's to impress the
Public.  They wouldn't be impressed by Trufandom, so some of us
thought we'd erect this city of Serious Constructivism to give them
a better idea of our importance."
 
     "But surely the Public never come into Fandom?"  protested
Jophan.
 
     "Well, no," admitted Dedwood, "but they sometimes send a
representative in, usually a Mr. Press."
 
     He seemed to be having difficulty meeting Jophan's gaze, and
the reflection from Jophan's Shield of Umor seemed to be hurting his
eyes, so that while he was talking he glanced sideways up and down
the street.
 
     Abruptly he broke off with a cry of excitement.  "Why, there he
is now!"  he exclaimed.  "This is a great day..."
 
     The rest of his words were lost as he ran helter-skelter down
the street to where a little man with a notebook had appeared as if
from nowhere, accompanied by another little man with an easel under
his arm.
 
     Jophan followed more slowly and found Dedwood already talking
volubly to the stranger, while the other little man set up his easel
and began making sketches.  At great length Dedwood expiated on the
glories of the City, on the Magnificent Work that was being
accomplished there, on the grandeur of the buildings, on the
intelligence and forethought of the inhabitants, on their sobriety
of deportment and the importance of their work to Humanity, on the
various functions and important duties they performed, and on the
contribution he himself made to these mighty achievements.  Jophan
noticed, however, that the little man was writing very little of all
this in his notebook, and as Dedwood drew to the close of his
impressive oration he sidled behind Mr.  Press and looked over his
shoulder.  The page was perfectly blank except for one cryptic
sentence which Jophan could not understand.  He only knew that it
bore no relationship whatever to what Dedwood had been saying.  It
read, simply, "Gosh-wow-boy-oh-boy!"  Puzzled, Jophan moved behind
the artist, who had already completed several sketches.  Jophan
noted that they were all recognizable caricatures of Dedwood, but
that for some reason the artist had in each case shown him as
wearing a peculiarly shaped headgear which incorporated a small
propeller.
 
     Completely baffled by these quite extraordinary phenomena,
Jophan withdrew and waited quietly until Dedwood had finished
talking.  Mr.  Press and his assistant thanked Dedwood effusively,
promised to give the Public a full and accurate report of all that
he had told them, and said goodbye.  Their shoulders were shaking as
they walked off, but Dedwood did not seem to notice.  Becoming once
more conscious of Jophan's existence, he turned to him with pride.
"There!"  he said smugly.  "I flatter myself that *this* time the
Public will learn the truth about us."
 
     He seemed so pleased with himself that Jophan did not have the
heart to tell him what Mr. Press had actually written in his
notebook.  Instead he merely thanked him for his courtesy and left
the center of the city with a last glance of contempt and pity for
the preposterous erections.
 
                          [To be continued.]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw.  Jophan is
trying to get to Trufandom.]

                           Chapter Twelve
                  In which Jophan finds a Friend.
 
     It took Jophan a much shorter time to leave the City of Serious
Constructivism then it had to enter it, and he was soon in the
suburbs again.  Here there were no advertising hoardings, club
buildings or hucksters' settlements.  Instead, the district seemed
to be an exclusive residential area, entirely composed of enormous
wooded estates surrounded by high walls.  There seemed to be a
limitless number of them, and as the evening wore on, Jophan became
very tired.  The walls were too high to be climbed, and the gates
were all locked, so that try as he might he could find no way to get
off the road to make camp for the night.
 
     At last he realized that he could go no further, and that he
must spend the night as best he could by the side of the road.
Huddling up against the wall near one of the entrance gates, he
wrapped his tattered garments about him and made himself as
comfortable as the hard surface would allow.
 
     Some time later he was awakened from a fitful sleep by a great
blaze of light in his eyes.  In his dazed condition it was a few
seconds before he realized that he was staring into the headlights
of a huge motorcar which had evidently approached from the direction
of Trufandom, and was now halted before the entrance gates.  As
Jophan watched, the driver got out and unlocked the gates.  As he
was walking back to his car Jophan called weakly to him.  The driver
looked round, startled, and then, perceiving Jophan lying against
the wall, came over to him.
 
     "Hello, young fellow," he said.  "Who are you, and what are you
doing here?"
 
     So faint was Jophan with exhaustion that he could scarcely
speak.  "...Jophan," he murmured, "Trufandom...Magic
Mimeograph...Perfect Fanzine."
 
     "Ah, yes," said the stranger understandingly.  "You have come a
long way and you have a long way to go.  You will be the better off
after a good meal and a night's rest."
 
     He picked Jophan up and carried his limp body to the car.
Then, stopping only to relock the gate behind him, he drove at high
speed up the long entrance drive.
 
     Jophan could not see much of the house in the darkness, but the
bedroom to which he was carried was large and luxuriously furnished,
and the meal which he was served was tastefully cooked and
sumptuously served.  Feeling comfortable and safe for the first time
since he had embarked on his journey, Jophan fell into a deep sleep.
 
     Next morning he awoke late and found his way down to the
breakfast room.  His host had evidently breakfasted, and sat before
a cheerful fire with a writing machine on his knees.  As Jophan
entered he put the machine down and rose to greet him.
 
     "Good morning, Jophan," he said.  "Let me introduce myself.  My
name is Profan . . . you may have heard of me?"
 
     "I have, indeed."  said Jophan, awed, for before him stood the
author of many of the books telling of faraway places and other
times which he had read during his life in Mundane -- a life which
already seemed unreal to him.
 
     He attempted to express his admiration and gratitude, but
Profan waved the latter aside and motioned him toward the laden
breakfast table.
 
     When Jophan had finished breakfast and joined his host beside
the fire he again attempted to express his thanks, but the other
would hear none of it.  "It is nothing," he said.  "I am glad to be
able to help any pilgrim on his way to Trufandom.  As long," he
added wryly, "as they do not descend on me in too great numbers."
 
     This was the first resident of Fandom Jophan had encountered
who had really encouraged him in his quest, and it put him in good
heart.
 
     "Am I then," he asked, "getting near to Trufandom?"
 
     "You have done about half the journey," said Profan, "but since
you have come this far I have no doubt you will complete it.  I wish
I could take you there, but as you know, each Neofan must make his
way by his own unaided strength."
 
     "But you know the way, then?"  asked Jophan eagerly.
 
     "Indeed, yes," said the Profan.  "I go there for a visit at
least once a year.  This, as you must know, is a colony for those
who wish, and can afford, to travel frequently to both Trufandom and
Mundane, and who have accordingly settled here, midway between the
two places.  Some of us, indeed, came here from Trufandom, for
occasionally it happens that a True Fan will forsake the high and
dedicated life of Trufandom for our more worldly community.  They
make their choice, as it were, between the Sacred and the Profan."
He smiled at his little joke, and Jophan laughed politely.
 
     "I will tell you all I can about your route," continued Profan,
"but I should first warn you that any advice I give you will be of
no avail unless you continue to exercise the courage and discretion
which have brought you so far, and unless you keep your Shield
bright and shining.  For you have many dreadful periods yet to
face."
 
     "I shall remember," said Jophan.
 
     "Well," said Profan, "the first of these perils is the Desert
of Indifference, which begins at the borders of this community and
stretches for a good distance unbroken save by an occasional oasis.
To carry enough food and water to cross this vast expanse is beyond
the powers of any Neofan, so that you must enlist the aid of native
porters from the strange tribe that dwells on the fringes of the
desert.  On the far side of the desert is a huge rocky defile, known
as the the Canyon of Criticism, through which lies the only path to
the plateau above where stands the Tower of Trufandom.  Further I
cannot help you, for the more subtle temptations and perils of the
last stages of the journey assume a different form for each Neofan."
 
     "Is that all?"  asked Jophan.
 
     "All?"  said Profan, amused.  "I admire your spirit.  But alas,
it is not.  On each side of your path, far away but always
accessible, are the green, enticing regions known as the Glades of
Gafia.  Perpetually you will be pursued by the insidious temptation
to turn aside and rest awhile there.  But, should you do so, there
is a danger you will be unable to face the effort of resuming your
journey, or that, roaming forgetfully though the beckoning glades,
you will find yourself back in Mundane.  Far better to proceed with
moderation so that you will not be driven to the Glades to
recuperate from too-strenuous effort.
 
     Profan went on to give Jophan much other helpful advice, to
which Jophan listened respectfully.  The he thanked his host again
and prepared to resume his journey.  Profan went with him to the
gate to wish him luck, and then stood watching Jophan march sturdily
down the road.  Once Jophan looked back to wave a final goodbye.  He
fancied that he detected in the other's face an emotion which, in
the case of one less fortunately situated, he would have taken to be
envy.  But this cannot have been so, any more than the raising of
Profan's hand to his eye can have been to wipe away an involuntary
tear of regret.
 
                          [To be continued.]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw.  Jophan is
on his way to Trufandom.]

                          Chapter Thirteen
              In which Jophan recruits Native Bearers.
 
     Much refreshed by Profan's hospitality, Jophan stepped out
briskly, and by noon had left the region of great estates far
behind.  He was now in open country again, a region of dry scrubland
interspersed with bare sandy patches which became more frequent as
he journeyed on.
 
     As the country became more desolate he kept an anxious eye open
for the tribesmen whom Profan mentioned.  Then, as he was on the
point of turning back to look more carefully, he espied a faint
column of smoke rising into the still air from some distance to his
left.  Threading his way through the scrub in that direction he was
greatly relieved to come upon a group of tents which he knew must be
a village of the strange natives.
 
     The encampment contained several dozen of the Subrs, as Profan
had said they were called, all sitting perfectly still on the ground
before their tents and staring blankly into the distance.  They
seemed to be a sturdy and honest race, but with a strangely
impassive cast of countenance, and their faces showed no sign of
emotion when Jophan made his appearance.  Nevertheless, he strode
into the center of the village and greeted them cheerily, expecting
that they would spring to their feet and cluster around him.  But
instead they continued to ignore his presence completely.
Surprised, Jophan raised his voice and greeted them again,
announcing his name and the purpose of his visit.  But still the
strange people seemed unconscious of his existence.  Indeed he would
have judged them to be both blind and deaf had he not noticed one of
them raise his eyebrows slightly when Jophan had finished speaking.
Incensed at their apathy he lost his temper and flew into a rage,
jumping up and down and waving his arms to attract their attention,
and then launching into a loud and impassioned discourse, describing
in detail the importance of his visit and the impossibility of
fulfilling it without their help.  At this a few Subrs turned their
eyes curiously in his direction, but none of them showed the
slightest sign of answering his call.
 
     In desperation Jophan went up to the native who had appeared to
be the first to notice him, and pleaded with him for an explanation
of the tribe's reluctance to cooperate.
 
     The Subr looked indifferently at him and spoke.
 
     "Many Neofen come," he grunted.  "Many seek help.  Many leave
us in desert, our help wasted.  You show difference."
 
     For a moment Jophan could not understand what he meant, and
then he realized he was being called upon to demonstrate that he had
the necessary stamina and strength of will to cross the desert.
Resignedly, he began to run round and round the encampment.
 
     The afternoon wore on, and Jophan continued to run round the
encampment, watched impassively by the Subrs.  Every now and then he
would stop and plead with them again, and each time they evinced a
little more interest.
 
     Finally one of them rose and nodded to Jophan.  Still without a
word he picked up a skin water-bottle, and a package of food and
stood waiting.  His example was followed by several others until a
small group had collected at Jophan's side.  He thanked them
gratefully, and the small expedition started off into the desert.
 
                            [To be continued.]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw.  Jophan is
in search of Trufandom.]

                          Chapter Fourteen
     In which Jophan starts across the Desert of Indifference.
 
     As they progressed ever farther into the wilderness the hot sun
and scorching sand began to take their toll of Jophan's strength,
and he realized more fully the magnitude of the task before him.  He
also came to appreciate the virtues of native porters.  Although the
Subrs preserved their unnatural silence, uttering no word either of
praise or condemnation of Jophan's behavior, whatever it might be,
they showed their feelings clearly enough by their actions.  Twice
when Jophan, unnerved by the hardships of the desert, spoke
tactlessly to them or made some error of judgment, some of them
quietly left the expedition and were never seen again.  But, on the
other hand, whenever he exhibited his better qualities,
reinforcements appeared to arrive from nowhere.  Thus, by studying
their reactions carefully, he was able to increase the strength of
his party by quite a substantial number.
 
     It would have faired ill with him had he not done so, for as
day followed day the strain of the journey began to tell on him.
The heat of the sun seemed to dry up the very marrow of his bones,
and its setting brought only momentary relief, for with nightfall
the air became bitterly cold, and he passed many sleepless nights
shivering under the meager protection of his blanket.  The loyal
support of the sturdy Subrs was a great comfort to him, but willing
as they were they could carry only a certain amount of their dried
food and it seemed to accord ill with his constitution.  It was of a
tasteless and insipid nature, affording only the merest sustenance
and gravely deficient in energy-producing qualities.  Jophan, though
in no danger of actual starvation, began to grow weak and faint of
purpose, and at times his eyes strayed longingly to the green Glades
of Gafia to be seen clearly in the distance.
 
     So it was that when after many days the party came upon the
first sign of other life in the desert.  It had appeared in the
distance to be a small hut, but on approaching more closely Jophan
saw that it was actually a species of altar before which crouched a
pale and sickly Neofan.  He seemed to be in the process of muttering
some prayer or incantation, and Jophan waited patiently until he had
finished before addressing him.
 
     "Good day, friend," he said politely, when the Neofan seemed to
have completed his mysterious rites.  "My name is Jophan, and I am
on my way to Trufandom to obtain the Magic Mimeograph, so that I may
publish the Perfect Fanzine."
 
     "Good day, Neofan," said the other, somewhat superciliously.
"My name is Sycofan, and I am on a similar errand.  I trust you will
set up your altar at a reasonable distance from mine."
 
     "Altar?"  asked Jophan, surprised.  "What for?"
 
     "Why, to invoke the BNFicent spirits," said the other
condescendingly.  "Surely you don't imagine that you can cross the
desert without their help?"
 
     "I did not know it was possible for a mere Neofan to have any
intercourse with the BNFs until he reached Trufandom," said Jophan
wonderingly.
 
     "Why, of course it is," said the other.  "You must--" At this
point there came a blinding glow of light above the altar, and
Sycofan threw himself on his knees and began beating his head on the
ground.
 
     In a few moments there was a loud clap of thunder, and a small
solid object fell on the altar and rolled off on to the ground.
Jophan remained erect and gazed at the phenomenon.
 
     "There!"  said Sycofan smugly, snatching the object up and
showing it to Jophan.  It seemed to bea sort of thin pancake or
waffle, rolled up like a scroll of paper.
 
     "What is it?"  asked Jophan.
 
     "It's called a manna-script," said Sycofan, devouring it
greedily.  Jophan watched enviously until the other had swallowed
the last succulent morsel.
 
     "I suppose you will be resuming your journey now?"  he asked.
 
     An uneasy expression crossed the other's face.  "Er...no," he
said, rather shamefacedly.  "I think I shall wait here until my
strength is built up.  The manna-scripts need a great deal of
praying for, and I haven't enough of them yet."
 
     Jophan looked at Sycofan's weak face and privately decided that
it was doubtful if he would ever complete the journey to Trufandom.
After pondering the matter for some minutes he came to a conclusion.
 
     "I was told," he said earnestly, "that the journey to Trufandom
is one that can be accomplished only by a fan's unaided efforts, and
I believe this to be true.  I cannot believe that if the BNFicent
spirits give aid to one who merely asks it they would withhold it
from one who shows that he deserves it.  I urge you to leave your
altar and come with me."
 
     "Why, you're only a Neofan," sneered the other.  "Why should I
associate with you when I can have the help of BNFs?"
 
     "Even they were once Neofen like me," said Jophan quietly.
"Yet they are wise and will not waste their gifts.  You may find,"
he warned Sycofan gravely, "that they will not continue to feed you
indefinitely."
 
     But Sycofan would not abandon his parasitic existence, and
instead promptly embarked on another session of prayer.
 
     Shaking his head regretfully, Jophan left him and resumed his
journey.
 
     Before he had gone much further, Jophan was both delighted and
relieved to find that his surmise had been correct.  To the
accompaniment of a blaze of light and clap of thunder a bulky
manna-script fell beside him; and before disappearing the light
moved on toward Trufandom as if in encouragement.
 
     Thereafter, the manna-scripts fell with increasing frequency
during the remainder of his journey so that he had no longer any
cause to worry on the score of food.
 
                            [To be continued.]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw.  Jophan is
crossing the Desert of Indifference on his way to Trufandom.]

                          Chapter Fifteen
            In which Jophan enters the Region of Oasis.
 
     But Jophan's difficulties were by no means at an end.  The
scorching heat by day and the bitter cold by night made sleep almost
impossible, and as time went on he became more and more exhausted.
But he staggered on dauntlessly, searching ceaselessly through
red-rimmed eyes for some sign of the end of this terrible desert.
 
     Shortly before nightfall one day they came upon an oasis.
Jophan let his feeble limbs carry him into the welcome shade of the
trees and lay down to rest for the night, observing as he did so a
flock of gaily-plumaged birds flitting to and fro among the trees,
to the accompaniment of their sweet song.  It sounded like "Bu!
Bu!"  Idly he asked one of the Subrs what the birds were called.
"Bu-birds," replied the Subr laconically.  Smiling quietly to
himself at the ingenious reply, Jophan went to sleep.
 
     Whether it was the soothing song of the birds, or the fact that
the oasis retained its heat longer than the open desert, Jophan
slept unusually well.  Nevertheless, he realized when he awoke next
morning that he was in no fit state to resume the march.  His limbs
were stiff and enfeebled, and it was all he could do to raise his
head and look about him.  He knew he would have to rest awhile here
in the hope of regaining his strength.
 
     As he was about to lie back again, however, he noticed just a
few feet away from him a beautiful translucent egg, which must, he
realized, have been laid by one of the Bu-birds during the night.
It occurred to him that it would make a welcome addition to his
diet, and, reaching out painfully for it, he pierced a hole at each
end and raised it to his mouth.
 
     As the first mouthful of the liquid passed his lips Jophan was
almost shocked in his astonishment.  This was clearly no ordinary
egg.  The fluid it contained was cool, refreshing and intoxicatingly
delicious to the taste.  With each drop Jophan felt new energy
flooding into his body.  When the egg was finished he jumped to his
feet and began to run eagerly round the oasis looking for more, so
intent on the search that he scarcely noticed how quickly his
tiredness had been replaced with boundless energy and enthusiasm.
 
     Soon he opened all the eggs he could find and poured their
content into one of the empty water bottles.  Then he called his
party together and strode confidently into the desert at their head.
 
     During the days which followed he found that when his energy
began to flag all that was necessary was to take a draught of the
life-giving fluid.  Instantly his vigor and enthusiasm was restored.
Furthermore he had apparently reached an area of the desert where
oases were plentiful, and each morning he usually collected a
sufficient quantity of "Egg o' Bu," as he now affectionately called
it, to sustain him for the day's journey.  He was now able to
dispense almost completely with ordinary food and water, and would
indeed have been prepared to do without the help of the Subrs had
that been necessary.  The only ill effects he noticed were that
over- indulgence in the elixir was inclined to produce a species of
intoxication and a painless but unsightly swelling of the head.
These he resolved to guard against as carefully as he could.
 
     Jophan now began to make very rapid progress, and with each day
the change in the character of the desert became more pronounced.
The days were cooler, the night warmer, and oases increasingly
numerous.  Mirages began to appear of the high mountains of
Trufandom, and though he was disappointed each time on finding they
were illusions, he consoled himself with the thought that they
indicated he was approaching his goal.
 
     At last his patience was rewarded.  One morning he breasted a
long, low ridge of sand-dunes, to see before him, far too clear to
be a mirage, a stupendous mountain range stretching as far as the
eye could see.  Beyond those mountains, he knew with a thrill of
awe, must lie the land of Trufandom.
 
                            [To be continued.]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw.  Jophan is
seeking the route to Trufandom.]
 
                          Chapter Sixteen
          In which Jophan enters the Canyon of Criticism.
 
     Jophan now pressed on with redoubled energy, and by evening he
could plainly see a deep rocky cleft leading into the mountains.
This, he knew, must be the Canyon of Criticism, the only route
through the Mountains of Trufandom.  He resolved to fortify himself
with a night's sleep before attempting this new peril, and spent the
night at an oasis.
 
     Next morning, having partaken cautiously of the Egg o' Bu lest
it should foul his perceptions, Jophan set out for the entrance to
the Canyon.  As he approached it he noticed other Neofen converging
on the point from all directions.  They rushed past, wild-eyed and
eager, and plunged into the Canyon.  They had obviously partaken too
freely of Egg o' Bu, for their eyes were glazed, their steps
unsteady, their heads unnaturally swollen, and their clothes and
Shields neglected and dirty.  Reluctant as he was to let them
overtake him, he took thought of his previous experience and the
warnings he had been given.  He polished his Shield of Umor hastily,
checked his provisions, and only then set foot cautiously into the
Canyon.
 
     The path proved to be along the side of the Canyon rather than
at its foot.  After he had travelled some distance Jophan noticed
that while the ground still fell away sharply to his left, the cliff
on his right had gradually merged into a more gentle slope.  Along
this the path split into several smaller paths which wound their
separate ways along the mountainside.
 
     As he picked his way along over the rougher ground he heard a
clatter of falling rock in front of him, and looked upwards in time
to see several small stones bounding toward him over an overhanging
boulder.  Hastily he brought up his Shield and covered himself with
it.  Most of the stones bounced harmlessly off it, but to his dismay
one of them passed through as if the Shield were made of vapor, and
dealt him a severe blow on the shoulder.  Suppressing a cry of pain,
Jophan looked closely at his Shield.  There was, he now noticed, a
tarnished patch which had escaped the hasty polishing he had done
that morning.  Retreating quickly to safety, he polished his Shield
to a uniform brilliance.  Then he ventured again towards the danger
area, looking curiously ahead to see how the other Neofen were
faring.
 
     It was a dreadful sight that met his eyes.  Lying on the paths
were the crushed and bleeding bodies of many of the Neofen who had
passed him that morning.  Among them others staggered about,
panic-stricken, trying to dodge the hail of stones.  But their minds
were so befuddled, and their swollen heads so vulnerable beneath
their tiny and tarnished Shields, that the efforts of many were in
vain.  Even as he watched, one of the unfortunate wretches was
struck from the path by a particularly heavy stone, and with a
heart-rending scream vanished from sight down the rocky slope.
 
     On emerging from the lee of the big boulder which had been
affording him some shelter, Jophan shielded his eyes from the sun
and peered up the slope to try to discover why the falls of rock
were so frequent.  To his horror he saw, outlined against the sky, a
row of dark, misshapen little men busily engaged in uprooting stones
and hurling them at the defenseless Neofen below.  He watched them
for a while, but they showed no sign of abating their activities.
Indeed, they did not even seem to stop for food for he noticed one
dwarf hurling stones with one hand and with the other eating what
appeared to be a bunch of small sour grapes.
 
     This last sight caused Jophan to decide that there was no point
in delaying further.  As he ventured forth a savage howl arose from
the dwarfs, and the grape-eater seized a particularly sharp stone
and threw it with tremendous speed directly at Jophan.  Without
flinching Jophan held his Shield firmly above his head.  The stone
bounced harmlessly off the Shield and back to the thrower with
undiminished force.  With grim satisfaction he observed it strike
the dwarf with deadly effect, dislodging him from his perch so that
he fell screaming down the slope and vanished into the abyss.
 
     Greatly pleased with the excellence of his Shield, Jophan
proceeded along the path.  The dwarfs seemed to have learned a
lesson from a taste of their own medicine, and such stones as were
thrown in his direction were cast in such a tentative and
half-hearted manner that he could almost afford to ignore them.  He
began to think that the perils of the Canyon were at an end.
 
     This mood of over-confidence was soon rudely shattered.  On
rounding the next curve in his path he suddenly found himself in
semi-darkness.  Thinking that a cloud had passed over the sun, he
looked up casually.  His heart almost failed him to see that the
shadow was cast by several huge, swarthy giants sitting drowsily
among the swarming dwarfs on the crest of the cliff.
 
                            [To be continued.]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw.  Jophan is
on his way to Trufandom.]

                         Chapter Seventeen
           In which Jophan continues through the Canyon.
 
     Even as Jophan watched, one of the giants awoke, snorting
angrily.  With no apparent reason, or even perception of what he was
doing, the giant uttered a great bellow of wrath, seized a boulder
as large as a house and hurled it down the slope.  The huge mass of
rock hurtled down into a line of Neofen, smashing several to the
ground despite their upraised Shields of Umor, and continued on its
way down the mountainside, bounding from path to path, and sometimes
carrying away whole fan groups at a time.
 
     When the last despairing cry had died away, Jophan looked back
up the slope to see that the giant had settled back down to sleep, a
contented, imbecilic smile on his countenance.  Shuddering with
disgust and fear, Jophan withdrew a few paces and sat down in the
entrance to a cave to recover his nerve.
 
     The sound of his own breathing had barely subsided when he was
again startled by a clicking noise behind him.  He turned round
sharply, and, as his eyes became more accustomed to the
semi-darkness, he could see that the noise came from a Neofan who
was striking a flat piece of stone with a tiny axe.  He was so
intent on his work that he did not notice Jophan's presence until
the latter spoke to him.
 
     "What are these dreadful beings?"  asked Jophan fearfully,
speaking the first thought in his mind.
 
     "They belong to a race known as Magrevoos," said the Neofan
knowledgeably.  "The dwarfs are called Fanmagrevoos and the giants
Promagrevoos.  Many of them are not really evil, merely thoughtless
and stupid.  The giants, for example, have no idea of their own
strength, and do not understand half of what is going on down here.
In fact they would probably ignore us altogether were it not for the
fact that they are continually being prodded into activity by a
strange and powerful tribe known as the Headeaters, who live in the
mountains."  As he spoke, he lifted up a flat stone, which Jophan
now saw was covered with neatly-cut lettering, and carried it to the
mouth of the cave.  He beckoned Jophan to follow him.
 
     "Moreover," he went on, "there are other Magrevoos who do their
best to make up for the harm done by their fellows.  They are known
as the Fair Ones.  Watch!"
 
     Jophan looked again at the scene of carnage on the
mountainside.  He saw that groups of fair-complexioned and
kindly-faced dwarfs were passing among the victims reviving them
with draughts of Egg o' Bu, raising them to their feet, and helping
them some distance along the path.  There was even a beautiful,
blonde giantess assisting in the work of mercy.  Jophan noticed,
however, that while most of the dwarfs carefully selected those
among the survivors who seemed most likely to benefit from their
help, the giantess showed no such discrimination.  Instead, she
would sweep up a random pile of Neofen, including some who were
obviously dead, drench them with Egg o' Bu from a large pitcher she
carried slung over her shoulders, and with a few mighty strides
deposit them far along the path.  He saw that many of them merely
sat in a daze where she placed them, quite incapable of taking
advantage of their good fortune.
 
     "Who is she?"  asked Jophan.
 
     "She comes from a now almost extinct tribe known as Fillips,"
said the Neofan absently.  He had been swinging the stone in his
right hand and now flung it with great force towards the crest of
the mountains.  He and Jophan watched it spin over the heads of the
the dwarfs and disappear from view.
 
     "You missed," said Jophan.
 
     "It was not a missile," explained the Neofan patiently, "but a
missive.  A message to the Headeaters who control the giants.  It is
important to propitiate them, for they are by far the most important
tribe in Fandom.  indeed, there is a tradition that on their
existence depends that of Trufandom itself.
 
     "If that is so," said Jophan, impressed, "your work is
obviously of the greatest importance, and I should like to help if I
may.  My name is Jophan, and I am, of course, on my way to Trufandom
to find the Magic Mimeograph and produce the Perfect Fanzine."
 
     "My name is Letterax," said the other cordially, "and I am
delighted to make your acquaintance."  With these words he gave
Jophan a small axe, similar to his own, and they composed several
messages to the Headeaters.
 
     When the last of these had disappeared into the mountains
Jophan spoke reflectively to Letterax.
 
     "Since these mountains surround Trufandom on all sides," he
pointed out, "it occurs to me that it would be quite as easy to send
the messages from Trufandom as from here.  Should we not continue
our journey?"
 
     Letterax looked doubtful.  "Do so if you wish," he said, "but I
have several more messages I want to write.  I shall follow you
later."
 
     Privately, Jophan doubted if the Neofan would ever stir from
his peaceful existence in the cave, but he expressed the hope of
seeing him again in Trufandom and wished him a cordial farewell.
Then, having generously replenished Letterax's skimpy supply of Egg
o' Bu, he started on the last stage of his journey to Trufandom.
 
                            [To be concluded.]
 

[The Enchanted Duplicator, by Walt Willis and Bob Shaw.  Jophan has
been trying to reach Trufandom.]

                          Chapter Eighteen
           In which Jophan reaches the End of his Journey
 
     By the use of care and discretion, Jophan was able to evade the
blind rages of the giants, and he found his Shield an infallible
protection against the malice of the dwarfs.  Thus he emerged from
the danger area unscathed, and soon reached the head of the Canyon.
He now found himself on a pleasant, flower-decked path leading
gently upwards to a pass between the mountains.  The sky in that
direction was tinged with a warm golden glow, and at the sight he
quickened his pace, for he knew that the glow could come only from
Trufandom.
 
     However, the path was longer than it had seemed, and the sun
had set before he had reached the summit.  Regretfully he decided
that he had better pass the night where he was.  The grass beside
the path was soft and the night was warm and pleasant, but Jophan
found great difficulty in going to sleep.  Borne on the mild breeze
he heard the faint sound of happy voices coming from Trufandom, and
they filled him with impatience to complete his journey.
 
     Next morning he was on his way at the first hint of light in
the sky, and as dawn broke he had almost reached the summit of the
pass.  Gasping, he ran the last few hundred yards and flung himself
down on the ground to drink in the beauty of the scene which lay
before him.
 
     Bathed in the mysterious, golden light of early dawn lay the
fair land of Trufandom.  Only its hills and spires were picked out
by the questing rays of the sun, for the country was a sunken
plateau ringed on all sides by mountains, so that it formed a
secluded world of its own.  A more wonderful one Jophan could not
have imagined.  Beautiful as it was, however, his eyes were caught
and held by the most wonderful thing of all.  It was a tall, white
tower which rose out of the rolling park land, and soared into the
sky.  On the summit something glittered like a tiny sun.
 
     This, he knew, must be the Tower of Trufandom -- and on its top
The Enchanted Duplicator!
 
     All eagerness, he started down the grassy slope.  He had taken
but a few cautious steps when the thought came to him that here his
Shield of Umor might have other uses than as a means of defense.
Smiling happily to himself, he put the Shield on the ground and used
it as a toboggan.
 
     Thus, Jophan sailed gaily down into Trufandom.
 
     At the foot of the the slope he again took up his Shield, now
shining more brilliantly than ever before, and strode through the
leafy lanes in the direction of the Tower.  On either side of him
were numerous parks and gardens, great and small, and of varying
types of beauty, and in them walked shining, godlike figures whom he
knew to be Trufans.  Now and again one of them would notice Jophan,
and come to greet him and wish him well, and with each encounter his
eagerness grew to reach the Tower and become one of their number.
 
     So it was that late in the afternoon Jophan came at last to the
Tower.  There was a spiral staircase inside, and without hesitation
he began to climb it.  Up and up he went, round and round, higher
and higher, long after he thought he should have reached the top.
But the Tower was higher than he realized, and he was giddy and out
of breath when at last he reached the head of the stairs.  Above him
now there was only a short ladder to a trapdoor.
 
     Jophan sat on the stairway for a while until his dizziness had
passed, and he had regained his breath.  Then he climbed up the
ladder and pushed at the trapdoor.  It swung open easily, on a
concealed counterbalance.  Above him was the blue sky.
 
     Though he had come so far, and braved so many dangers for this
moment, his heart almost failed him now that his goal was at hand.
But at last, pulling himself together, he stepped quickly up the
ladder and onto the roof.
 
     He was on the very top of the Tower.  Far beneath him was
spread out all the Land of Trufandom as far as the now distant
mountains.  The top of the Tower was a sheet of burnished gold, and
in the center was a cube of solid gold.  On the cube there stood a
mimeograph.
 
     At the sight of it Jophan felt a sickness in the stomach, and
his legs almost failed to support him.  Whitefaced, he stared at the
mimeograph.  He had expected a gleaming, jewel-like machine.
Instead he saw a rusty, battered hulk.  The framework was filthy
with ink, the drum was caked, and there was something obviously
wrong with the self-feed.  It squatted on the gleaming, gold cube,
an obscene eye sore.
 
     Jophan tried to pull himself together, telling himself that
there must be some mistake.  But there was nothing else on the roof,
just the trapdoor through which he had come, the gold cube, and the
old mimeograph.  Dazed by the shock of his disappointment, he
wandered aimlessly across the top of the Tower.
 
     As he did so his hand brushed against the handle of the
mimeograph, and something like an electric shock coursed through his
body.  Amazed, he took a firm grip on the handle.  A current of some
potent force seemed to flow between him and the machine, feeding
back and forth from one to the other until Jophan felt every
particle of his being suffused with a strange new life.  The
mimeograph had also changed.  There was no difference in its outward
appearance, but he knew that the potent force had also taken
possession of it.  It was subtly changed, as if it had been dead and
was now alive.  The handle seemed to throb in his hand.  Still
uncomprehending, Jophan looked down at his own body.  His skin was
glowing with the same golden radiance he had noticed in the bodies
of the Trufans.  His limbs were being invested with the same godlike
strength.
 
     As the revelation came to him, there was a sound of golden
trumpets in the air, and he heard again the voice of the Spirit of
Fandom.
 
     "Yes, Jophan," it said," you are now a True Fan; and it is
yourself that has made you so, as it must be.  And now you realize
the second great truth -- that this is indeed the Magic Mimeograph,
and it will produce the Perfect Fanzine.  For--" and now the song of
the trumpets filled the air, ringing across Trufandom to the far
mountains-- "FOR THE MAGIC MIMEOGRAPH IS THE ONE WITH A TRUE FAN AT
THE HANDLE."
 
     And Jophan found that it was so.....
 
                                 -THE END-