Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 44 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION chained to the ground. Out here, I’m free, unfettered, more than a man.” Curry took his eyes off Steve, disdaining the menace of the automatic, and looked with dilating pupils through a vision port. Stars, stars and “more stars. Stretching in shimmering folds until the sea of light was taken up and continued by the uncounted nebule beyond the edge of the Galaxy. A steady, un- winking fire that drew the very heart and guts from a man. That was space. And space was a tough, pitiless taskmaster. As a reasoning human being, Curry hated to do what he had to do: but the dreams and aspirations of all men, concentrated and distilled in- to this final effort of the team, over-rode every other con- sideration. Everything build- ing up into this one stupen- dous spearhead of a single man in a fragile metal bubble of air heading bravely out into space—all. this dedication could not, dare not, be spoiled and wasted. In a single fluid movement, like the rolling, twisting turn of an attacking shark, Curry launched himself across the cabin, his metal and plastic 66 left arm trailing at his side, his good right hand clawing and clutching for the gun. Gibbering in fear, Steve fired twice. Then Curry’s lean, merciless fingers closed over gun and hand, gripped and tore, took the weapon away and, almost casually, slapped it across Steve’s temple. Regaining the control chair, Curry strapped himself back into it, his face grim and compressed and a sour, acid taste in his mouth. His rate of breathing had not changed and he stared almost non- chalantly as Steve drifted untidily across the cabin up- side down in relation to Curry. The reporter’s mouth was slackly open. His bottom set of teeth floated beside him, the plastic glinting in the fluorescents, gradually draw- ing farther and farther away from his pale, glistening face. The guy was a skinny, undernourished little runt, dreaming of his name in headlines. But he must have had a driving ambition, a strong share of courage, to have stowed away on the first journey to the moon. Sure it was for money and publicity. Curry caught some trickling doubt of his capacity connicloooks.connm