Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 48 — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION “Where is the marshal?” asked Takato. The major shrugged and shook his head. Takato allowed him to pro- ceed. “Where is the marshal?” he asked every Martian who came past him. They shrugged or spread their hands. “Where is the mar- shal?” They did not know. They did not care. What was a marshal to them? They were Fighters no longer. They had done with killing. They wanted to eat. Takato found himself mur- muring: “My father, this must be the bitterest of defeats.” Then he caught sight, of a small figure pain- fully dragging itself across the barren ground towards the cupola. The drab grey uniform was unmistakable. THE DIRECTOR stooped over the hunched figure of the, marshal. “Your legs?” asked Takato. “ Are they broken?” He got no reply. With a 60 quick heave he raised the marshal and dragged him to the outer port. A few seconds later he was laying his father on the floor of the cupola. He struggled to unlock the killer’s breathing globe. His haste made him clumsy, but at last the globe rolled free. A few Constructors had srouped themselves round the two men. One of them offered Takato his hand weapon, but the Director waved it aside. “Father,” said Takato. “Speak to me. Are you. injured?” His voice was strained. The older man stirred and groaned. His eyes opened, his little metallic eyes. He bared his teeth in a grin as he re- cognised the face above him. Then he spoke. “So this is the great Director,” he hissed. “You’re hurt,” said Takato. “The great Director,” re- peated the marshal. He stifled a whimper as he struggled to sit up. He ignored the ring comiclooks.com