Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 48 — page 102: what you’re looking at

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

LAST JOURNEY can help. Let’s think this out.” There was silence for a few moments. I spoke again: “ We’ve no chance of finding the beam, I reckon. At least, one of us hasn’t. Even if you get me out, ’m no good; broken leg, I think. I’m not going to move it to make certain, though. You'll only get lost trying to find the beam on your own. Since there’s a crevasse here, it must be at least five hundred yards in the opposite direction, to- wards the sun. The beam path’s supposed to be clear of crevasses at least a quarter- mile on either side. Best to wait until night and try to make out the colony beacon; it should show up a bit, even in this hellish murk. Then get help.” “How far down are you?” he asked. “Dunno. I daren’t move more than my fingers, in case I fall further.” “Tm coming over—all right, all right,” as I began to expostulate, “ I’m crawling 101 on my belly. We need con- tact, you see,’ he went on, and I could hear the brush- ing of his hands and knees over the dust. “ The radios ought to be saved for later, when we need them; my battery’s only got about two hours’ life. How’s yours?” I hadn’t thought about it. -“ About the same, I think. I was going to get a recharge at the port.” I felt a slight vibration through the rock at my back. “Look out. You must be on the edge now.” A space-gloved hand touched _ my _ shoulder gropingly, then my helmet. Faintly, I heard his voice: ““T’ve switched off now; you do the same. Can you hear me?” “Yes. Unscrew your aerial, touch one end to my helmet, the other to yours; that'll im- prove things a bit. The air doesn’t carry much sound.” So we settled down, the stranger—Mark VIII, as I was now calling him—lying on the ground by the crevasse, and I, growing more numb conmcloooks.com