Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 44 — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

FIRST DOWN to perform the next, obvious step, and thrust into the forefront of his brain the bitter, anguished years, where- in he had toiled and starved for this moment. Hadn’t he the supreme right-to be the first. man on the moon? His dream had been shared by the team; but he had been the firestone kindling their ardour. Or was it just because he was an expendable cripple? He grunted sourly and ran his tongue over his lips. The smell of burnt cordite was flat and stale in his nostrils. The two slugs had made an efficient job of wrecking the radio—now that he had time to call the station the means was denied him. He grunted again and reached for a water dispenser, sucked at the nozzle. He was completely cut off from every other human being in the system, with the only man within thousands of miles unconscious and due to be tossed out into space. Curry ejected the empty water can through the disposal port and wiped his mouth. Now for it. First of all he retrieved the floating automatic and stuffed it into his coverall pocket, zippering the flap half shut. Steve moaned. Better get the job over quickly, whilst the reporter was still unconscious, avoid any more unpleasant- ness. The spacesuit could go out afterwards, along with the gun. Good riddance to use- less weight. Unsnapping the fastenings, he eased himself from the control chair and sailed across to Steve, collided, and with his own momentum propelled them both down to the air- lock hatch. The safety switch was set at open on the control board so that Curry could reach down and operate the lock manually. The hatch came up with its dull whine, shockingly loud in the cabin. Inserting the reporter’s limp body into the lock presented no great difficulty. Curry debated whether to eject the suit now, or wait until later, when another groan from Steve decided him. He reached out for the manual control. “What’s going on? My head.”” Steve’s words were full of pain. They sounded indistinct and slushy. That must be due to the lack of teeth. “Curry! Wait! Don’t 67 throw me out! Let me talk to you——”’ ““Save your breath.”” Curry was curt, annoyed that the man had regained conscious- ness before the job was fin- COMM DOOKS.COM 3 watt,” “3