Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 43 — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

TO-MORROW JIS ANOTHER DAY. gaged in maintaining a baffle around the car. But the murmuring night- mare in his brain was faint still, which meant that neither of them was the mysterious member of the opposition with whom his brain was said to be en rapport. He looked curiously at them again. Eventually, the one on the left stirred slightly, and glanced at him. His eyes were deep-set on either side of a sharp, short nose. that made his face look compressed from top to bottom in front of his head. He said: “Enoch, he isn’t even attempting to push anything out.” The other one, without turning, said: “So maybe he wasn’t bluffing after all. Good. That means the opposition hasn’t merely been holding him out as bait.” “From what I dragged out of the mess we left in Pren- tiss’s mind, they didn’t even know about him—or rather, of his location—till yesterday. And Prentiss, unfortunately, was about as integral a part Jl of their organisation as Mon- tague is of ours.” “You don’t say. He fought like an immortal.” “He was one. But young, yet. Forty-two.” “I see.’ Enoch turned thoughtful eyes on Michel. “And him?” 7 “Thirty.” “Fine. Then it’s unlikely that his abilities have deve- loped even rudimentarily yet. We can relax.” “Anyone on our tracks?” “Look out, Marcia. They’re dropping their baffle.” “T know.” ““NO ONE BUT A MIDDLE-AGED couple in a fifth-rate Vaux.” “That’s a relief.” Enoch relaxed visibly, and felt in one of the inside pockets of his jacket. “Cigarette, Murphy ?” “Thanks.” Murphy took one, lit it thoughtfully, his eyes on Michel. Torn between the pain of the bruise on his head, which made him irritable, height- ened by the dim return of the comiclbooks.conn