Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 48 — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

RECOIL shields to leave open in the power room. The beam of radiation had gone unerringly to the pilot’s chair in which Moore sat, killing him in seconds. “Time to talk!” A voice boomed from the 18-inch speaker in the ceiling, com- mandingly. “ Time to talk! Don’t put it off !” Nielson leapt to his feet, arms akimbo, as if the ship had challenged him. Then he opened clenched _ fists, realising that it was the taped reminder about report time. The report chronometer showed only two minutes remaining, before the report was due, and Nielson remem- bered now the meaning of the chimes. A little trickle of sweat ran down the centre of his chest as he tried to gather together his wits. He had a bit less than two minutes to tell the truth or think of an alibi. Space law required twice- daily reports to the nearest planet from each ship in 69 space, and somewhere on Mars a bored clerk was even now adjusting dials to receive the message from the Perseus. Nielson walked in a circu- lar path to avoid the chair holding the body, snapped on the transmitter, and shud- dered at the evil glow of its red sending light. A finger’s flick started the Perseus’ coded tape to sending its end- less series of identifying sig- nals. Nielson tried to ask himself what he would say, but could think only of how he had watched Moore go through this routine dozens of times in the preceding weeks: Something burped inside the transmitter when _ the chronometer dial showed zero. Nielson heard himself, unexpectedly, talking : ‘“All’s well, aboardship. Fuel dials show safety factor of four six point six. We're three days minus on con- sumption of vitals. No meteor breaks since last report. Over- heating of number seven jet comicloooks.com