Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, Issue 45 — page 54: what you’re looking at

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

SOME OTHER TIME to stop my work is a basic, simple drive. You’re losing a war.” The Molinarian didn’t say anything. He sat in his chair, head sunk on his breast, look- ing up at Carpenter. “Say something, man. - Don’t just sit there.” ‘““What can hesay, Doctor?” Louise said from over Car- penter’s shoulder. Carpenter relaxed. He said: ‘*“How much have you heard, Louise ?”’ “Enough to know what the score is. Why didn’t you tell me?” *‘Would you have believed ? No, wait. It doesn’t matter now. What we have to do— what I have to do—is try to chart some sort of course through all these shifting currents of emotion. God knows what to believe. I don’t.” The Molinarian spoke softly. “Don’t forget, Doctor, Ican cure your T.B.” “You're bribing me?” “No.” The stranger shook his head in a curious, un- 53 earthly gesture. “Call it a reward if you will.” “Call it what you like, it’s very tempting.” “You could, Doctor,” Louise whispered. “Listen, both of you,” Car- penter said, heavily. “If I had my health again, if you cured me from this disease, stranger, I’d not be able to work, not be able to carry on my dream. That’s it, isn’t it?” They were both watching him, scarcely breathing. ““Well—you’re unlucky. My work comes first.” And as soon as he had said that, Carpenter was coughing and choking, gasping in the final convulsions of the fit that had attacked him when the Molinarian had halted it be- fore. He stared out from red- rimmed eyes at the alien. “You swine!” Carpenter dragged a shaking hand across his mouth and, again, abruptly he was free from the pain and the coughing and the retching agony. “Forgive me, Doctor Car- penter,”’ the alien said, un- comiclooks.conn