Astounding British Edition, Vol. 9, No. 7 — page 44: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

6 < monster out of the night. A cry broke from the man’s lips. It was a train! Roaring down the tunnel toward him, it was moving like a demon, with no tracks, screeching its warning as it came, with the light growing brighter and brighter, blinding him. Relentlessly it came, filling the entire tunnel from side to side, hissing smoke and fire and steam from its valves, its whistle shrieking— With a scream of sheer terror, Cox threw himself face down on the floor, trying frantically to burrow deeper into the soft matt of the tunnel floor, closing his mind down, blanking out everything but horrible, blinding fear. The light blazed to floodlight brilliance, and with a fearful rush of wind the roar rose to a sudden thundering bellow over his head. Then it gave way to the loud, metallic clak-clak-clak of steel wheels on steel rails beside his ears, and faded slowly into the distance behind him. Trembling uncontrollably in every muscle, Cox stirred, trying to rise to his knees, groping for control of his mind. His eyes were closed tightly, and suddenly the floor was no longer soft matting, but a gritty stuff that seemed to run through his fingers. He opened his eyes with a start, and a little cry came to his lips. The tunnel was gone. He was standing ankle-deep in the steaming sand of a vast, yellow desert, with a brassy sun beating down from a purple sky. He blinked, unbelieving, at the yellow dunes, and a twisted Joshua tree blinked back at him not ten feet away. Two men and a girl stood in the room, watching the motionless body of the dark-haired man sprawled on the bed. The late afternoon sun came in the win- dow, throwing bright yellow panels across the white bedspread, but the man lay quite still, his pale eyes wide open and glassy, oblivious to anything in the room. His face was deathly pale. The girl gasped. “I think he’s stopped breathing,” she whispered. The taller of the men, dressed in white, took her by the shoulder, gently turning her face away. “He’s still breathing,” he reassured her. “You shouldn’t be here. " 45% e; as et = “ = . . i , ~ o~ @ - * ' et ee 3. ae Tae pe SO gS on "J » 4 a Pa dl ~ rm 4 ents - he = ae Are : i ee ot ¥ OP ae ates, et? ape ree tee he Fete ate ey San : ¢ , > — me ili im — Se “op Fi 6 ee Be an > ~~ _~ ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION os ing, bearing down like some hideous Mary. You should go home, try to get some rest. He'll be all right.” The other man snorted, his pink face flushed with anger. “He shouldn’t be here either,” he hissed, jerking a thumb at the man on the bed. “I tell you, Paul, Robert Cox is not the man. I don’t care what you say. He’ll never get through.” Dr. Paul Schiml drew a deep breath, turning to face the other. “If Cox can’t get through, there isn’t a man in the Hoffman Medical Center who can—or ever will. You know that.” “I know that there were fifty others in the same training program who were better fitted for this than Bob Cox!” “That’s not true.” Dr. Schiml’s voice was sharp in the still room. “Reaction time, ingenuity, opportunism—not one in the group could hold a candle to Bob.” He stared down at the red-faced man, his eyes glittering angrily. “Admit it, Con- nover. You’re not worried for Bob Cox’s sake. You’re worried for your own neck. You’ve been afraid since the start, since the first ships came back to Earth, because you've been in charge of a program you don’t believe in, and you’re afraid of what will happen if Bob Cox doesn’t come through. It wouldn’t matter who was on that bed—you’d still be afraid.” He sniffed — in disgust. “Well, you needn’t worry. Bob Cox will do it, if anyone can. He has to.” “And if he doesn’t get through?” The tall doctor stared angrily for a moment, then turned abruptly and walked over to the bedside. There was hardly a flicker of life in the man who lay there, only the shallowest respiration to indicate that he was alive. With gentle fingers Dr Schiml inspected the small incision in the man’s skull, checked again the multi- tude of tiny, glittering wires leading to the - light panel by the bedside. He stopped, staring at the panel, and motioned sharply to Connover. “Here’s the first already,” he whispered. For a moment, only the faintest buzz of sound could be heard from the panel; then Connover let out a soft whistle. “A tunnel. That makes sense. But what a device—” He turned wide-eyed to Schiml. “He could kill himself!” “Of course he could. We’ve known that from the start.” oO CORnieloow) cS