Early that afternoon Professor Larkin crossed the river into Washington, a thing he always did on Election day, and sat for a long while in the Polls. It was still called the Polls, in this year A.D. 2066, although what went on inside bore no relation at all to the elections of primitive American history. The Polls was now a single enormous building which rose out of the green fields where the ancient Pentagon had once stood. There was only one of its kind in Washington, only one Polling Place in each of the forty-eight states, but since few visited the Polls nowadays, no more were needed. In the lobby of the building, a great hall was reserved for visitors. Here you could sit and watch the many-colored lights dancing
and flickering on the huge panels above, listen to the weird but strangely soothing hum and click of the vast central machine. Professor Larkin chose a deep soft chair near the long line of booths and sat down. He sat for a long while smoking his pipe, watching the people go in and out of the booths with strained, anxious looks on their faces.
Professor Larkin was a lean, boyish-faced man in his late forties. With the pipe in his hand he looked much more serious and sedate than he normally felt, and it often bothered him that people were able to guess his profession almost instantly.
He had a vague idea that it was not becoming to look like a college professor, and he often tried to change his appearance - a loud tie here, a sport coat there - but it never seemed to make any difference. He remained what he was easily identifiable, Professor Harry L. (Lloyd) Larkin, Ph.D., Dean of the Political Science Department at a small but competent college just outside of Washington.
It was his interest in Political Science which drew him regularly to the Polls at every election.
Here he could sit and feel the flow of American history in the making, and recognize, as he did now, perennial candidates for the presidency. Smiling, he watched a little old lady dressed in pink, very tiny and very fussy, flit doggedly from booth to booth. Evidently her test marks had not been very good.
She was clutching her papers tightly in a black-gloved hand, and there was a look of prim irritation on her face.
But she knew how to run this country, by George, and one of these days she would be SHOCRATES President.
Harry Larkin chuckled.
1957 LOOK ON MY WORKS - ALGIS BUDRYS - ICECAP MELT DROWN NEW-YORK
A SHIP FROM CENTAURI COLONY
RETURNS 600 YEARS AFTER , AFTER THE COLONIZATION?
SHARLES ZHONSON AND ZHOSEF BROUN CITZENS OF MIDEASTERN
NORTH AMERIKA ...IS A THREE STATE DISASTER AREA
CANADA AND SOUTHREN ARE THE EXTRA TWO
THE MELTING 530 YEARS BEFORE THE PRESENT
THE LAKES CONFEDERATION IS FINE
TO BE CONTINUED - 1957 ROB SILVERBERG
GAIUS TITUS MENENDIUS LIVES IN NEW YORK
BORN IN EGYPT AT 462 YEARS IS A YOUNG BOY
THE ROMAN EMPIRE FALL AND GAIUS 2000 YEARS OLD IT SEEMS TO HAVE 17....
"Carrying its little bit of human civilization, the expeditionary ship Space Beagle sped at an ever-increasing speed through a night without end..."
This is the story of the strangest voyage of exploration ever made.... The story of a group of one thousand scientists determined to pierce the secrets of outer space ... discover what lies beyond our solar system.A TIGERLIKE WITH POWER 'S DÁ CABO DA EXPEDIÇÃO
Pub year: 1952