Doomed City
Doomed CitBrad Lilling spraddled weary legs to hold his aching body. His bleared eyes found the white haired atomician, standing near the dial-panel of an intricate and unfamiliar electronic setup stretching across the lower half of the opposite wall. The old man’s twisted half-smile seemed more sinister than ever as he sighed and said, “This is my brother, Lilling. Fran Kozmer.”
His brother? The figure beside him resembled a human only because, propped on two leglike, articulated struts, the central rectanguloid had the proportions of and was only slightly larger than a man’s torso. It sprouted from just below the upper edges of two opposite sides of plastic simulacra of arms and was topped by a head-box like Vince’s.
“Starl has told me who you are, Lilling.” It had a voice
